The Gift of New Beginnings
by Starwatcher2018
Summary: Third in a series of mysteries about Erik and Christine post the Final Lair. In addition to his role as Artistic Director of the Palais Garnier with Christine as Prima Donna - Erik and Nadir Khan operate a Security business aiding the local police Inspector when requested. Madame Giry, Meg, Darius and the Chagney brothers - as well as new OCs continue to play a role in their story.
1. Chapter 1

Second Chances

The new moon gives the black velvet of the summer sky over to the profusion of stars sparkling above the Palais Garnier. The rooftop is empty save for a couple dancing to music they create.

"_Once there was a night, beneath a moonless sky," _Christine sings, an arm cast above her head, hand fingering a graceful Flamenco movement to accentuate her words.

"_And I held you," _Erik intones, an element of mockery in his voice as one hand pulls her sharply toward him, the other dramatically placed behind his back, following her lead.

"_And I touched you." _Her face lifts to his, eyes half-closed, lashes brushing against her cheeks. Jutting out her chin as she stamps her heel, then kicks her train, singing, "_And embraced you."_

"_With a need to urgent to deny." _Erik bends to capture her bottom lip in his teeth. The gentle bite becomes a kiss, deepening as mouths conjoin, tongue brushing tongue – reaffirming the wholeness they both feel when their bodies meld.

Breathless as they break apart, Christine whispers, _"Again and then again," _touching his cheek with the back of her hand.

"_Beneath a moonless sky," _They finish together, eyes locked – then break into laughter at their parody of Erik's opera.

"I still believe is it quite a lovely song," Erik says.

Christine turns around, pressing her back against him, pulling his arms around her to rest on her swollen belly. "You killed me off – however lovely the song may be."

A warm breeze stirs the air, toying with the chiffon dolman sleeves and train of Christine's aqua gown. Removing one of his hands from the embrace, his long fingers of run through the chestnut curls that flow down her back and over her shoulders.

"You are Venus rising from the sea in that color – with your hair free from pins and combs," he says. His own garb another perfectly tailored black tailcoat – the only variation, a waistcoat of teal and grey embroidered satin. The touch of color a concession to Christine.

"_You are an artiste and must dress accordingly."_

"_Next you will have me in yellow feathers."_

"_No – your skin is already sallow – yellow would only make it seem more so – reds and blues favor you."_

As with most of her new costumes, the dress is empire waisted and drapes to flow down and away from the body. Having been advised by the doctor that Erik's deformity may have been a result of his mother's tight-laced corseting, Christine eschewed the encumbrances since then.

Erik sways back and forth, both looking out at the city below.

"I feel Apollo looking down on us – wondering who the loving couple could possibly be," she says. "Our last ventures up here were so angry and violent – almost disrespectful to his mission."

"This used to be the only place outside the building where I felt safe to feel the sun and be free from the cellar and not have to travel in the world of human beings."

"Someday you must take me all the way up to the top."

"Never. I could only climb up there because it did not matter how I might descend."

"Erik." She jabs him with her elbow.

"You sang beautifully tonight, despite the silliness of the plot I created for the original story – the songs adapted well to the staging. The opening appears to be a success, judging from the applause."

"Do not change the subject."

"The subject was changed when you chose me to be your husband," he says, kissing the top of her head. "Come let us go back down – you must celebrate your success."

* * *

"Monsieur, please, it is all a mistake – I gave you the wrong pouch." Reynald shrinks back from the man with the pearl handled Châtellerault knife. A flick of the switch reveals the blade, catching the light of one of the dim electric bulbs lighting the alleyway behind the Opera House. Reynald flinches when the blade nicks his nostril.

The shadows conceal much of the dark figure dressed all in black – a cloak of fine wool and a cavalier hat pulled down over his face. The lack of light works to his advantage – a masked demon prancing around the terrified stage manager. "A mistake," he hisses. "It does not pay to make mistakes when dealing with me. I thought you knew that, little man."

"Yes, monsieur." The balding man, with a beard hardly worth maintaining, sparse and gray, is wet with the tears and blood dripping from his face. Pulling a pouch from his pocket, he throws it at the feet of the man. "M-may I have the other? I must pay the winners."

"That is your problem. Consider this a lesson." With an abrupt turn the man is gone.

Reynald touches his off-kilter nose, broken as the result of a run-in with a different enforcer. Standing up, he pulls a rag from his pocket to stem the bleeding, feeling the wet fabric of his breeches. "Damn."

Darius enters the alleyway from the stage door, calling, "Reynald? Where are you?"

"Here," the stage manager says, stepping into the light, stumbling to the door over the cobblestone.

"What happened to you?"

"I had a set to with a robber, but I ran him off."

"A robber?"

"Indeed, he robbed me of my profits from the races."

"You are gambling again?"

"No, monsieur, not me – others, I just hold the money – pay them off when they win. Take a piece for my services."

"So this robber?"

"It was the Opera Ghost. I told you he was still around."

"And what did this Ghost look like?

"Dressed all in black – same black hat – black mask covering his face. He has a knife now – a switchblade." Turning his face to Darius, he shows the cut, now dripping blood despite the cloth.

"Goodness – that needs to be tended to." Darius grabs him and drags him in the theater. "That was not the Opera Ghost."

"Oh, but it was, he was taking his share of the money – just like the OG did before from the managers."

"Reynald, I will not have you spreading these unfounded rumors. Someone found out what a fool you are and is taking advantage of your naivete."

"You saying I am stupid?"

"I am saying that you are easily fooled."

* * *

"Ah, La Daae, I was concerned that you might not be in attendance at the Gala – I myself was late and I should have so regretted not meeting you," The gangly young man says, taking Christine's hand, touching it to his lips, before clicking his heels and straightening his back to nod at Erik. "Monsieur Saint-Rien, I presume? I am Monique's terrible twin, Alexandre du Boisschut– Alex."

Erik's amber eyes assess the young nobleman. Same height as he, but thinner, thanks to Erik's new regimen of regular meals – Alexandre appears to be a boy barely out of adolescence. The rust of his hair mirrors that of his sister, Monique, who stands at his side. Deep pride flushes her normally pale face, and there is little doubt of the joy she feels being in the presence of her brother.

The special bond of children born at the same time. He read that they often shared the same thoughts and feelings. His experiences with astrology could attest to the similarities to an extent. Even so, people are still individuals – he wonders how much this pair has in common. Monique's recent life has been full of strife – has it been the same for Alex?

"Baron," Erik nods his greeting, a smirk crosses his face at the garb if the young man – black tail coat and trousers, but with a waistcoat of bright yellow and black plaid satin in contrast to the otherwise traditional attire – a posy of yellow feathers pinned to his lapel. Discernment in apparel is one thing they obviously do not share. Monique demure in her favorite pale blue, silk and lace.

Exchanging looks with Erik, Christine chuckles, covering her mouth with her hand. "Monique, I am so pleased that you have family here – a twin brother, no less," she says. "Will you be staying in the city for an indefinite time?"

"It is a consideration," he says, "Our father felt it was time for me to strike out on my own – he was also concerned about our wayward family member." He places an arm around Monique that she welcomes and returns.

"And what it is you do, M. Baron?" Erik asks, taking a glass of champagne for Monique and Alexandre from the waiter's tray, handing it to them. "Christine – cider?"

"Thank you, yes."

The waiter turns the tray, offering the cider to Erik – who takes a glass for both Christine and himself.

"Finance – I am in finance," he snickers.

Monique is confused at the laugh. "Alex – finance is hardly a laughable endeavor."

"No, no, of course it is not," he says. "The idea that I am actually working at all is laughable. You know how father always called me a spendthrift and profligate."

"Oh, he never did. He just felt you did not treat money with the same respect he has for it," she responds.

"What is it you wish to be doing?" Erik asks, but the conversation is interrupted with the arrival of Raoul, Phillippe and Giselle – her gown rust colored taffeta with black lace bouffant sleeves and matching lace trim around the neckline and hem. Both men adopt the conservative tail coats with grey pin-striped waistcoats. Their faces solemn as they approach.

"Why so grim, le Comte?" Erik asks.

"Just an annoyance – the mistress in the cloakroom seems to have misplaced Raoul's cape. He forgot something in a pocket that he wished to show us, but when we presented the ticket, it could not be located."

"That will not do – of course, we will reimburse you," Erik says.

"Unfortunately, you cannot replace the gift for Monique," Raoul says.

"That is true, but we will be happy to provide recompense."

"Never mind – the only value would be to us," he says, moving to Monique, drawing her away from her brother's arm onto his own.

A furrowed brow suggests displeasure, yet she takes his arm, content to stand next to him. "You must not let the loss ruin the evening, my love," she whispers in his ear. "Please try to enjoy yourself."

Alex sniffs. "Really, Raoul, bringing a gift to a public theater is hardly the wisest endeavor. One never knows who might be looking for a bit of finery to pilfer."

"Someone such as yourself?" Raoul says. "It was a photograph – hardly anything someone would wish to_ pilfer_, as you put it."

"Even more foolhardy, you already haunt my sister with your presence – yet you bring her a photograph as a gift to a stage show – when would you have her look at it – during her personal duties?"

"You are perhaps the most grotesque example of a human being I have ever met. Have you no decorum?" Raoul growls, taking a few steps toward Alex before Phillippe grabs his arm.

"Alex, Raoul, enough. I love you, but am seriously considering leaving you both to take up with young Andre at this point. I am quite tired of this bickering," Monique says.

Christine interjects, "Was Andre not wonderful?

"Pie Jesu was perfection and the scene you did together was quite moving," Giselle says, tugging Phillippe back to her side. "It is quite something to watch rehearsals and view the show from the wings or the flies – but the thrill of watching from a box is something I could grow fond of."

"Another point in my favor, Mademoiselle – I sense I am becoming irresistible to you," Phillippe says, squeezing her hand.

"You watch from up there?" Alex asks – pointing to the apex of the proscenium arch.

"Yes, Baron, Giselle is quite talented – she is carpenter, artist, detective…" Phillippe says, smiling down at her uplifted face.

"Yet you allow her to accompany you in public?" Alex smirks.

"Pardon me?" Phillippe pales.

"The nobility thing? I suspect had Monique not revealed her noble status, you and your brother would not be quite so welcoming of her – she would be just another ballet rat."

"I told you he was a _salaud._" Raoul says, raising his fist.

Monique grabs Raoul by the arm before he can throw a punch at her brother. "I apologize to all of you. Alex is joking – he thinks he is a comedian. Is that not correct, Alex?"

"I am an actor at heart," he says. "Perhaps you have a role I could fill in this review – it seems loosely constructed – another scene could be added quite easily."

"Baron, with the exception of my wife, you have managed to insult everyone standing here at the moment. I suspect, were you to continue talking, she would also taste your venom. Is that a reasonable assumption?"

Alex does a little tap shuffle. "I am truly a performer, M. Saint-Rien," he says, his face morphing from the soft illusion of childhood, to chiseled cheekbones and jaw. The humor in his pale blue eyes hardens to focus on Erik. "As with Monique, our father did not approve of my aspiration to the arts, but I should like to audition for you – since this attempt has been a massive failure."

Monique's eyes, another symbol of their familial relationship, join his plea. "You see, he is quite agile in appearance and thought. Brilliant, some have said."

"Impressive. Come to my office tomorrow," Erik grunts. "For now, however, I suggest you be civil to our friends and find your humor in mocking the other guests."

"Erik – why is that any different?" Christine asks.

"Because I might agree with him and find some pleasure in having to attend this event."

Alex laughs. "So you do have a sense of humor."

"No – just a sense of reality and how foolish most people are – especially those who take their positions seriously. I may point out that le Comte and le Vicomte are not of that ilk."

"Ah, here is an interesting couple – the jacket looks to have been attacked by an angry child with a pallet of oil paints."

"Yes, my partner, Nadir Khan," Erik says. "On second thought, you should hold your tongue entirely for the rest of the evening."

"Christine, my dear, you were brilliant tonight," Nadir says as he joins their party, Adele following close behind. His mood is reflected in the abundance of color in his new Persian jacket and blue astrakhan hat. Adele takes a break from her newfound love of red, donning a midnight blue velvet gown.

"Your wedding garments," Christine exclaims, casting a side eye toward Alex. "You both look so festive tonight."

"I see your brother was able to attend the performance after all, Monique," Adele says, offering her hand to Alex. "Adele Giry – my husband Nadir Khan – you were to have joined us at my apartment."

"Madame, Monsieur. I apologize if I disturbed your timing – a matter of business arose."

"Financial business?" Erik asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"In a manner of speaking" is Alex's cool response.

"I fear I am weary and crave my bed," Christine says, resting against Erik's side, her head on his shoulder.

"Of course, I should have been paying better attention," Erik says. "M. le Baron, let us just say it was an experience meeting you. We shall be in our office at eleven tomorrow morning – feel free to stop by at your convenience."

"Thank you, M. Saint-Rien, I promise I shall not disappoint you," Alex says.

"Cousins, Giselle, Monique – enjoy the party."

"Cousins?" Alex asks.

"Monique will explain," Erik says, tossing her a grin. "He should find that story entertaining."

"Adele could you accompany us – I have some questions about the production tonight – there seemed to be some timing issues with the dancers during "Love Changes Everything" – I found myself in their path during the choral sequence. I want to be certain I am doing the routine properly," Christine says.

"Of course," she replies, looking at Nadir. "Do you wish to stay?"

"Decidedly not, I think Erik is the only one who despises these events more than I," Nadir says. "A pleasure, Alex. Good night, all."

* * *

"What did we miss and what is this about the boy coming to our office tomorrow?" Nadir asks as the two couples make their way through the Salon du Glacier, to the quieter hallways leading to the offices and dressing rooms.

"He claims to be an actor and Monique backs him up. At his request, I agreed to audition him."

"For what?" Adele asks. "He is not a leading man and he does not appear to be a dancer."

"Actually, he does appear to have some dancing skills, Madame," Christine says. "Although not ballet. Monique says he wishes to be a comedian."

"Is he?" Nadir asks.

"His humor is that of insult – and he does seem able to find the weak spots of character that might embarrass the victim, but an audience might find amusing. He is, most definitely, an actor."

"Like Erik," Christine says, chuckling.

Erik pats her hand. "You had to notice how his face completely changed during our conversation."

"True – he wanted us to see him as a silly boy, but the steel was in his eyes when you challenged him."

"Exactly," Erik says.

"Where would he fit in?" Adele asks. "This production is themed and follows a pattern despite the fact that it is not a constructed opera."

"I do not know – when he comes, I shall alert you and all of us can do the interview."

* * *

"Can we give you a lift to your hotel, Alex?" Phillippe asks.

"That will not be necessary. I am enjoying walking the streets – finding my way about, but I thank you."

"You shall come to Madame's apartment tomorrow morning for breakfast, please?" Monique asks. "We have had so little time to visit and I often have the apartment to myself after breakfast – then you can go to your meeting."

"I thought we were going to share breakfast," Raoul says.

"Ah, you see, I would be interfering."

"Raoul, I have not seen my brother for months – I see you every day."

"Of course. Perhaps I should take your joke to heart, Alex."

"Perhaps you should."

"Tomorrow, then?" Monique says.

"Tomorrow." With a click of his heels and a sharp bow, Alex walks away in a brisk clip away from them.

"Your brother is quite mercurial," Giselle comments. "I can see how he would like to be an actor on the stage."

"Yes – he is quite talented," Monique watches the figure of her twin recede. "He seems brittle somehow – angrier. I am sorry for the insults. That is not the boy I grew up with."

"When did he arrive?" Giselle asks.

"I do not know – he simply showed up at our rehearsal yesterday. Said he had been looking for me."

"Your parents were aware you were performing here – is that not so?" Raoul asks, taking her shoulders to face him.

"Yes." Shrugging him off.

"Then why would Alex not know where you were – if your father sent him?" Raoul takes her hands, searching her face.

"My father can be unkind. Alex used to defend me, but he left – a year before – to save himself. I do not know where he has been."

* * *

"_You are the devil's spawn."_

"_Then you must be Beelzebub himself, since I sprang from your loins."_

"_Do not mock me." _

"_Father, please – he was only wrestling with his friend."_

"_Naked, in bed, with the door locked?"_

"_Precisely – the door was locked."_

"_I shall not have that behavior in my house."_

"_But you will lie with whores – despite our mother's feelings?"_

"_Alex and Jacob are romantic friends, father. No one cares." _

"_Friendship is one thing – this…this is quite another."_

"_Then I suppose I must leave."_

"_As you wish."_

* * *

"So the story about striking out…?" Raoul asks.

"Many of us play roles," Phillippe responds for her. "He put on an offense, I am not sure was necessary – the truth would have been more endearing. You love him, thus we shall give him every opportunity."

"Thank you," she says. "The day has been quite full – I do not know about the rest of you, but I am exhausted."

"Of course, Monique. Here is our carriage," Raoul says. "We shall drop you both off – the night is young, but I can see both of our young ladies are ready for sleep."

* * *

Nadir frowns – the door to the security office is ajar.

Erik puts his arm out, blocking Adele and Christine as he removes the Punjab lasso from his pocket. He tilts his head to Nadir to stand away from the door. Secure that everyone is out of harm's way, he kicks the door open, prepared to release the wire against whomever has intruded into their private space.

Darius jumps up from his kneeling position in front of Reynald, where he is treating his wound.

"Darius, what are you doing here?" Erik asks, returning the lasso to his pocket, calling out to the others in the hallway, "It is safe, come in."

Nadir precedes Adele and Christine into the office. "What happened to him?"

"Mugged, or so he claims."

Adele goes to the armoire to fetch the medical kit. "I will tend to him – thank you, Darius." Moving the water bowl that Darius has been using to clean the wound, she sets the box on the desk, pulling out alcohol to clean the wound and a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding. After threading the needle, she dips it in the alcohol and stitches the cut.

"Ouch, go easy there, I can hardly breathe as it is."

"The cartilage is thick, you are lucky it is only a nick," she says. "If you wish to avoid first aid in the future, then stop putting yourself in a position to get beaten up – I am weary of tending to your wounds."

"It was the Opera Ghost attacked me. He had the black cape and hat and a black mask. He stole my money."

"Reynald, I am…was the Opera Ghost," Erik says. "Most of the staff here are aware of that. How could you not hear the gossip?"

"I heard it – but things are still happening," he says, "Maybe you just do not want anyone to know you are still about playing tricks."

Erik rolls his eyes.

"I gave him some brandy to calm him down," Darius says. "He is blathering."

"You think I am slow and do not know what I am talking about," Reynald protests. "I am not a drunkard either."

"Tell us why you believe the Opera Ghost still exists, Reynald," Christine says, "we will listen to you."

"Thank you, Madame." A pained smile crosses his face. "It all started during HANNIBAL– props were moved around. I would try to find something and it would be gone. Then the keys got mixed up and some went missing. There were times I would take a drink of my coffee and fall asleep. Who falls asleep after drinking coffee?"

"We believe those to be the actions of Isabella Laurence – she is under doctor's care now and no longer a threat," Erik says.

"Well, tonight I saw him and he was real," he says, pointing at his nose. "He had a black cape, hat and a black mask covered his whole face."

"You have seen him before?" Nadir asks.

Reynald hesitates, his eyes darting from face to face observing him.

"Well – either you have or you have not."

"Not exactly."

* * *

"_You will pick up my messages in the letter box." There was no body connected to the voice._

_Reynald's breath caught in his throat. "Who are you?"_

"_The Opera Ghost."_

"_No – the OG is gone, he owns the theater now."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_What do you want from me? I am just a worker."_

"_I told you. You will find my messages in your box. They will instruct you where to pick up the funds and where to deliver them."_

"_What if I cannot get away from my job?"_

"_I will make it easy – just follow the instructions."_

"_Why me?"_

"_You need money?"_

"_Yes."_

"_You may take one franc for every ten francs you collect."_

"_For fact?"_

"_For fact."_

* * *

"You have been taking bets again, that is how you know him," Adele says. "What did I tell you about that?"

"Nothing wrong with running the money – I just pick it up and deliver – and run other errands."

"And you deliver the money to this masked man?"

"I do not know who picks the money up."

"Then why did you see him tonight?

"I left the wrong bag – I put my take in the hiding place instead of his."

"Did you think you would get away with it?" Adele asks. "That is how your nose got broken."

"I have a family – I need the money."

"Your family needs you alive, you old fool," Erik says. "Keep getting your face cut up and _you_ will be wearing a mask. We will review your salary."

"Yes, monsieur."

* * *

Darius escorts a stitched and bandaged Reynald from the office. "I shall make certain he gets home safely."

"He tends to have more problems here at work than on the streets."

When the door closes behind them, Christine is the first to burst out laughing, tears falling from her eyes. "That poor man."

"Do you find it odd that two different men are wearing black capes on a warm July night?"

"Who else was wearing a black cape?" Nadir asks.

"Raoul," Christine says. "Said it was missing from the cloakroom when he went to pick it up."

"I shall check with the mistress – as you say, how many men would be wearing capes on summer night?"

"Maybe it was one cape being worn by two different men," Erik says. "In any event, it does appear that someone is interested in reawakening the Opera Ghost." He smirks.

"You are not thinking of taking part in the charade – are you?" Christine says. "I hope you are joking – being a comedian like our new friend, Alex."

"I should not be adverse to a bit of role playing if it becomes necessary," he says. "After months of trying to build a new reputation for myself, I am not willing to have all those old issues resurrected."

* * *

"I think I shall get out here as well, Phillippe," Raoul says, once Monique and Giselle are safely escorted to their apartments.

"You do not wish to talk?" Phillippe asks. "Tonight was difficult for you."

Raoul smiles at his brother, closing the door of the carriage. "Yes, it was – perhaps tomorrow. I should like to have some time to muddle through everything – walking has always helped in the past."

* * *

"Do you think you can find your way home all right, Reynald?" Darius asks. "Henri would be happy to drive you."

"I can manage," he says. "Wife would wonder what I've been up to arriving home in a coach."

"She would not wonder about the cut nose?"

"Nah – I am prone to mishaps. You think tonight was bad," he chuckles.

"You seem to enjoy it."

"I like messing it up a bit – not like tonight, though. Scared the piss out of me, for sure."

"Well, then I shall bid you goodnight. Be on time tomorrow, second night is always harder than the opening for some reason."

"I shall be here fresh as a daisy – have no fear," he says, tipping his carpenter's hat and stumbles down the alley to the Rue Scribe.

Darius shakes his head and returns to the theater.

* * *

"_Past the Point of No Return, no backward glances," _Erik sings as he guides Christine through the short passage from the Rue Scribe entrance to their home after disarming the traps.

"You are being so silly tonight," she laughs.

"You mock my singing and my compositions, woman?" he says, sweeping her into his arms, walking through the kitchen into the sitting room, placing her onto the scarlet settee.

"Never would I do that." She pulls him down next to her – removing his mask, and kissing him lightly on the lips. "This was a good idea, continuing to use this apartment for performance nights."

"Something about returning here to spend the night, rather than in our new apartment, finds me, how shall I say it…"

"Horny," she giggles.

"Christine – wherever did you learn that expression?"

"You keep acting as though I was raised in a convent," she responds. "Look at yourself, it is more than obvious." Her hand strokes his member indeed having the appearance of a horn attempting to poke through his trousers.

Sitting up straight, she turns her back to him so he can undo her dress, pulling it from her shoulders, over arms. Nibbling on her ear, he caresses her breasts, grown fuller, in rhythm with the growth of their baby, as they are freed from the fabric.

Drawing her hair to one side, she tilts her head, exposing her neck, inviting the attention of his mouth and tongue.

Gliding a hand over her tummy to her mons, his long fingers spread the layers of soft flesh of her labia, feeling her wetness. "It would seem your little bud has become a horn itself, my dear. You have the advantage over me. I cannot hide my desire – but you…what warm unspoken secrets have I learned?"

"More than I ever imagined," she says, relaxing against him, spreading her legs, as he pleasures her. "Yes, there. Ah, wait, not yet." She rises from the sofa to unbutton his trousers, pulling them down along with his drawers. "Very, very horny." Kneeling on the couch straddling him, she lowers herself onto his member, _"I've decided_."

"_We are one."_


	2. Speculation

Speculation

"Do you wish to be present at the meeting with Alex this morning?" Erik kisses Christine's neck as she pulls her riot of curls into a pony tail, securing it with a turquoise satin ribbon.

"Are you determined to prevent me getting dressed this morning?" she asks, turning to kiss his cheek before pushing him away. "I have re-tied this bow three times already, the ribbon is getting crushed and my hair is becoming unruly with your fiddling."

"Here, let me," he says, picking up the wide-toothed comb from her dressing table. Untying the ribbon, he plaits it into her hair, leaving a few curls to frame her face. Peering over her shoulder into the vanity mirror, he asks, "Will that do?"

"It will," she smiles. "What can you not do with those hands of yours?"

"I am always willing to explore new tasks as my my dearest wife desires," he chuckles, massaging her shoulders.

"Of that I am certain." Getting up from the bench, she pokes him on the chest with a delicate finger, straightening her turquoise and peach plaid dress. "But not now – I must finish dressing because, yes, I wish to be present at the meeting with Alex. How could I not? What a fascinating person."

"Yes – an actor, certainly."

"What do you suppose he does in finance? Gambling?"

"Why would you think that?"

"He does not work in a bank, Erik. Yellow feathers," she laughs.

"My clever, dear – that was my thought as well," he says, placing a white knit capelet over her shoulders. "Despite the heat outside, it is still cool in the tunnels. Shall we?"

* * *

Reynald lifts the black cape from the bricks of the alleyway that tripped him. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God," he cries, throwing the cape down, wiping his hands on his trousers, staining them with the muck and blood clotted on the cloak.

He runs to the stage door, throwing it open. "Help. Help. Oh, my God."

Andre runs out to him.

"No, go back – you must not see," he says, blocking the boy's way. "Go back – get Darius or Henri."

"What is it?" Andre's face blanches. "Darius, Henri – please come. Hurry," he cries as he runs, following Reynald's instructions.

"What did you see?" Darius asks, grabbing the boy by the shoulders.

"Just blood on Reynald – he needs you to help."

"Very well, find Henri and M. Khan."

"M. Erik?"

"Of course, if he is here."

Andre looks back to the stage door.

"Go."

* * *

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, Andre?" Meg asks, grasping his arm as he pushes past her. Her fuschia and chartreuse satin skirt flairs as she spins from the impetus of his energy.

"Darius said to find Henri and M. Khan."

"And where is Darius? I have been looking for him," she pouts, not letting him loose. "We were to have luncheon."

"At the stage door. Reynald is all upset," he says.

"About what?"

"His hands and clothes were all bloody – he was very scared."

Meg releases his arms. "I best go see."

"No, Mlle. Meg, I would not do that."

"I shall be the judge of that."

"As you wish – I must go." Wrenching his arm away, he runs down the hallway to the offices.

* * *

"_Are you alone?"_

"No, I am holding a dozen people prisoner – they are all gagged, which is why you cannot hear them," Nadir says, rolling his eyes. "Does it matter what I say?

"Well, it might, I should not like strangers to know of the secret door, but, otherwise – no," Erik says, ushering Christine through the door in the wall.

"You knew no one was here," Nadir says, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, staring at the wired frames. "I do not think I shall ever become accustomed to wearing these things."

"Old age, my friend," Erik chuckles.

"I would not become too amused at my state, were I you."

"You have been squinting a bit lately, when reading," Christine says.

"Ganging up on me are you?" Erik harrumphs.

"Simply looking out for your welfare, my darling." Patting him on the hand, she walks to the armoire. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you," Erik says, sitting down at the desk across from Nadir. "Let me see them."

Nadir pushes the spectacles over to him.

Erik puts them on and takes up a letter from his in box, tromboning his arm to focus. "Hmm, they do seem to help."

"Does that mean now you can see and I do not have to read all the orders myself?'

"Possibly, but unlikely," Erik says, removing the glasses, pushing them back to his partner.

"No sign of Alex?" Christine asks.

"Not yet…"

A sharp knock on the door draws their attention. Andre pushes the door open, breathing hard.

"Andre – what is it?" Christine asks going to him, putting an arm around his shoulders to calm him down.

"Darius said come. Stage door. Reynald. Blood."

Christine looks to Erik.

"Stay here with the boy," Erik says. "Come, daroga."

"Be careful." Christine hugs Andre, smoothing his hair, rocking both of them.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Darius ask, rushing to block Meg's way, wrapping his arms around her to obstruct her view of Reynald.

"We were to have luncheon – Andre said you were here."

"Did he also suggest you not come?" He walks her farther from the door toward the rehearsal rooms.

Bouncing up and down in an attempt to see over his shoulder, she stops allowing him to guide her. "No. I will not continually be shooed away from all the excitement."

"Why would you want to observe violence?"

"I am an adult, I can handle these things – if people would just respect that," she argues. "Andre said there was blood – maybe I can help."

"The blood is not from Reynald – he is fine – upset, but fine."

"Well, maybe I can cheer him up." Using every bit of charm, she turns her blue eyes up to him, standing on tiptoe, she gives him a light kiss on his mouth, tightened to a hard line. "Darius, please, let me help. Do not treat me like a child."

His eyes are cold as they look down on her.

Meg draws back – this is not the sweet, gentle man she knows and loves. "I-I am sorry. This is not a frolic, is it?"

"No, it is not," he says, "but if you insist – come along. Maybe seeing you _will_ cheer him up."

Reynald's face returns to some normalcy at the sight of the little blonde, ballerina in her Carnival costume. "Mlle. Giry – how pretty you look." He looks down at his clothing. "Please excuse me – I am all dirty."

Leaving Darius's side, she walks to the stage manager to take his hand, ignoring the dirt and blood, squeezing it. "You seem frightened."

His wild eyes, seek out Darius, who nods. "Yes, I found something in the alley – a cloak – it was dirty and bloody.

Meg clears her throat – looking to Darius.

He quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head.

"Yes, I can see something like that would make you fearful," Meg says, uncertain about the wisdom of the choice she made by insisting she speak to the stage manager. "Can I get you some water or coffee?"

"Brandy would help, I think."

Darius smirks. "He keeps a bottle in his desk drawer."

Reynald's rheumy eyes widen. "No, monsieur, I never…"

"You are pushing the limits, Reynald – do you think I am a fool?"

Reynald shakes his head, looking away.

"Bring him the libation."

"Good. Good, I shall bring you a glass," Meg says, walking backwards away from the men.

"Could you bring the bottle?"

Darius shakes his head.

"A nice glass," she says, her ballet slippers seeming to move of their own volition toward the stage door.

Erik and Nadir stop when they see her running toward them.

"Meg, what is going on? Andre said there was trouble with Reynald."

Tears streak her eye makeup. She brushes the back of her hand across her nose. "He is covered in dirt and blood," she says, showing them her hand. "Oh, dear God, it is on my face. I know it. Oh, God." Pushing past them, she scurries toward the dressing rooms. "I am supposed to bring him some brandy, but I cannot go back there."

"She must be her father's daughter," Nadir says, shaking his head. "I am surprised Darius let her near Reynald if he is as big a mess as Meg suggests."

"Stubborn like her mother – she bullied him – at some point you just stop fighting," Erik laughs. "You would know."

"You were excellent training for my marriage to Adele."

"You flatter me, daroga, our Adele has her own level of command that I can only aspire to."

"Perhaps, but I believe I should know," Nadir says. "Come let us see what our stage manager has turned up now."

"Grab the brandy," Erik says, as they pass Reynald's small office.

* * *

"What happened to your face," Adele asks as Meg runs into her arms in the hallway outside her dressing room.

"Reynald was all dirty and bloody. I took his hand to make him feel better. Then I felt sick and started to cry and wiped my face. Darius said not to look, but I did anyway and, oh, Maman, he looked so awful and I have this…" She holds out the dirtied hand for her mother to see.

"Where are they?"

"At the stage door."

"Go clean up – and do not get anything on that costume," Adele says.

Meg nods, going into the dressing room.

"Wash your hands first," Adele calls after her. "Reynald again," she mutters to herself as she heads to the stage, pounding her staff against the floor with each painful step.

* * *

Nadir shoves the bottle of liquor at Reynald, assessing his appearance. "Are you sure you have not already indulged in a bottle of this _brandy_?"

"No, M. Khan, on my honor. It is not yet midday." Before Nadir can renege on the offer, he grabs the bottle, taking one swig, then another.

"Firmin must know of this."

"No, do not tell him – he will tell his sister and my life will be hell," Reynald says, screwing the cap back onto the bottle, stashing it in his trouser pocket. "I cannot lose this job."

"Enough – Adele can work this out," Erik says. "What happened?"

Darius leads them to the alley, telling them about the bloody cloak and Reynald's discovery.

The body lies face down in a puddle of water alongside the trash bin.

"Have you looked at him?" Erik asks.

Darius shakes his head. "I thought it best to wait for you. In any event, I had to calm him." Indicating Reynald, shivering in the doorway, with a lift of his chin.

"If I did not see him standing there, I might have thought the body was Reynald's," Nadir says.

"Exactly," Darius says. Drawing them closer to the body, he calls attention to a tan leather pouch with a pile of coins scattered around it. He picks one up and tosses it to Erik.

"Fake."

"Shall we see who this is?" Nadir says, rolling the body over. "Is he one of ours?"

Darius nods. "One of the new workmen – Gregor."

"Looks even more like him now," Nadir says.

"Reynald come here," Erik says.

The stage manager stumbles over to the other men, his head lowered.

"Do you know him?"

"Gregor. Yes, I know him – he just started working here."

"Is he working for you as well – with your bookmaking service?"

"No, Monsieur."

"Where is your pouch – your payment?"

Reynald pulls it from his pocket and hands it to Erik.

"Fake," Erik says, examining the coins. "Did you not check this when you took your share?"

"No, monsieur. I just took what I was told – one for ten – it was dark." Doubling over, he vomits. "He meant to kill_ me_."

"I would say that is an accurate assumption."

"Darius, take him inside and get him cleaned up," Nadir says. "Send Henri for Inspector Marquand and Dr. Gerard."

"A lot of blood and filth – hard to say where the wound or wounds are," Erik says as he walks around the body. "Where's the cloak?"

"Inside," Nadir says.

"Let us get a tarpaulin to cover him up, leave the coins so Marquand can see the scene."

* * *

"Where are you taking him?" Adele asks.

Darius stops, maintaining his hold on Reynald's arm. "The communal bathroom – to clean him up."

"No. To M. Firmin – he is the reason this sot is still here. Worse than having no stage manager at all."

"Mme. Giry, please, no," Reynald cries.

"Why should I give you any more chances? We all work twice as hard because of your incompetence." she scolds. "What is it now?" Her lip raises in a sneer as she surveys his clothing – the disarray, the blood and the smell of alcohol.

"Our new workman has been murdered – in the alley," Darius responds.

"It was supposed to be me." Reynald falls to his knees, clutching his body. "I never meant this to happen – to anyone. I do not wish to die. I just needed more money."

"Take him to the manager's office and tell them what happened – let them clean him up in their fine office and lavatory."

"My wife will kill me."

"I will kill you. Get him out of my sight."

Darius hides the glimmer of a smile that curves his full lips. Pulling Reynald to his feet, he leads him to the office of Armand and Firmin.

"I was handsome once…and smart," Reynald says, as he stumbles next to Darius. "She was the prettiest girl and she loved me. What am I going to do?"

"Perhaps you might have considered that sooner," Darius says as he knocks on the carved walnut door.

The sound of the door being unlatched sends a tremor through Reynald. He clings to Darius' arm.

Firmin opens the door to the two men. His eyes bulge at the sight of his brother-in-law. "What in heaven's name."

"Madame said to deliver him to you," Darius says, scraping the stage manager's hand from his arm and shoves him into the office. "There is a dead body in the alley. Messrs. Saint-Rien and Khan are handling the situation, so you need not bother. We expect the police shortly."

"What does that have to do with…him?"

"He was the intended victim," Darius says. "He can explain. Good day." Darius turns and retraces his path down the hallway toward the dressing rooms.

* * *

Christine and Andre sit next to one another on the brown linen settee. The silence becomes a third presence as both keep their eyes forward. Christine fusses with her capelet, then crosses her hands over her stomach – a movement becoming habit to her when unsettled.

"Mme. Christine, are you afraid?" Andre asks, sliding closer to her.

Chistine starts at the boy's movement and question. "No, not right now – are you?"

He shakes his head. "Reynald was scared."

"Do you know why?" Christine adjusts her position to encircle him with an arm.

"Something he saw in the alley." Andre turns to face her, despite the awkwardness of being alone with her and not singing, he manages to relax.

"Well Erik and Nadir will take care of it, I am sure," she says pulling him closer.

They sit in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Andre begins to hum.

"Your voice has improved so much. Erik is a wonderful tutor."

Andre's eyes brighten at Erik's name. "Did he teach you?"

"Yes."

"Was he strict with you?"

"Oh, my, yes – more than you can imagine."

* * *

"_He will never allow you to continue your singing."_

"_You do not know that."_

"_I do know that – the simple fact he is the reason for your tardiness only confirms his desire for you to quit."_

"_You are wrong."_

"_Very well, you must discover it for yourself. Then you will know I am seldom wrong."_

* * *

Something in her tone and the distance reflected in her eyes advises him that she is no longer aware of his presence. Instead he waits.

"Do you find him too strict?" she asks. "I can speak to him."

"No – I like it," he says. "Do you think about anything when you sing?"

"Do you?"

"You sound like M. Erik – I ask him a question and he answers with another question," Andre says.

Christine laughs. "It depends upon the song, I suppose. Mainly, I allow the music to flow through me, if that makes sense."

"Yes, it does – I feel like the music takes over. I always thought that was strange, but then I met you and M. Erik."

"My pappa was like that as well. When he played his violin, the music carried him away – the world stopped to listen to him – perhaps not always people, but – well, we spent a lot of time outside – travelling – and the animals seemed to know him."

"Did he make a lot of money?"

"No, he did not. We were quite poor, in truth."

* * *

_The wind was harsh, blowing through the tents being dismantled at the fairground. Most of the visitors were gone, leaving behind their trash on the hay strewn grounds – ignoring the baskets next to the food stalls. Christine pulls her woolen cape around her, struggling with her duffel as she steps over the animal dung, part and parcel of the pony rides provided for the children._

_Gustave leads the way to the hostel where they would spend the night, thanks to the coins and several franc notes tossed into her father's hat as he played his violin. Christine's face lit up when she realized that there was enough for a dinner of hot stew as well as lodging. _

"_We cannot spend all of the money at one time, dotter," Gustave says, cupping her round face, cheeks pink, brilliant aquamarine eyes wet with tears from the cold. His own nose is bright red. He tugs his woolen cap over his ears, before wrapping an arm around the little girl._

"_Today was good – we were loved and admired. Tomorrow we may not be so fortunate. We shall spend half and save the rest."_

* * *

"I miss my papa," he says, picking at his nails. "I did not really know him."

"Your mamma is a wonderful woman, she loves you very much." Christine takes his hands in his. "That is not good for your fingers, it will affect your playing."

"Do you have a maman?"

"No, my mamma died when I was younger than you – so we have that in common – losing a parent, but having the other being wonderful and kind."

"I love M. Erik."

"And he loves you, he is so proud of you."

The boy turns quiet, focusing on Christine's stomach. Biting his lower lip, he raises his brown eyes. "Do you think he will still love me when the baby comes?"

Christine's eyes widen. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"See, you ask another question."

Christine flushes and sighs. "I am not accustomed to speaking so openly with someone, I must admit."

"You mean a kid?"

"Maybe – but just anyone. I talked to my pappa and to Meg, but new people – it is not easy for me."

"M. Erik?"

Lowering her eyes, she blushes a deep pink. "Yes, we talk a lot about everything."

* * *

"_You have so many books – have you read them all?"_

"_Some I found not worth my time."_

"_What an odd answer – are they all not worth reading?"_

"_Perhaps – just not by me."_

"_When I was travelling with my pappa we could not carry too many things, so I was not able to read very much."_

"_You are more than welcome to read any of these books whenever you come here, Christine."_

"_And talk?"_

"_If that is what you desire – although I fear I am not very good at conversing."_

"_We could read together and talk about the books."_

"_We could, I suppose – if that would give you pleasure."_

* * *

"Recalling this, it seems he was my first real friend outside of family."

"You love him?"

"Yes, I do," she says, squeezing his hand. "And – to answer your question – Erik loves you with his whole heart – there is nothing that can change that."

"Are you sure?"

"_So look with your heart_

_And not with your eyes_

_A heart understands_

_A heart never lies_

_Believe what it feels_

_And trust what it shows_

_The heart always knows…_

"I am sure," she says. "Erik wrote that song when he was very unhappy."

"When was he so unhappy? Was it when he hurt his face?"

The sharp intake of her breath, warns him he may have asked her a question too personal, too dangerous.

With a deep sigh, she says, "Not then – another later time." Turning toward him, face solemn, she continues, "I shall let him tell you."

Andre rolls his eye, folding his arms. "Another question you will not answer," he harrumphs, risking her anger.

"It is his story to tell, not mine," Christine chuckles, unable to resist his charm, she tousles his brown wavy hair.

"I hope he and M. Khan are all right."

"I trust they are."

"I like being with you – besides singing."

Christine touches her chest, then presses her head against his.

"I like being with you, too."

* * *

Darius hesitates outside the dressing room door. He looks toward the stage area, and again at the door. Taking a deep breath, he knocks lightly. "Meg are you there?"

The door swings open, Meg throws herself into his arms, tears streaking the filth from Reynald's hand still marring her pale skin. "I am so happy you are here," she says. "My hands got dirty. He was so dirty. He smelled and was creepy. What happened to him? I should have listened to you. I was just cleaning up and wanted to be perfect before seeing you, but it is fine. I am fine, now you are here."

Holding her tightly to his chest, he shushes her rambling. "I am sorry you had to see that." Closing the door behind him, he throws the lock. _Erik and Nadir can handle that fool._

"I shall just pretend it was make-up – he was in costume. It is fine, I tell you. I am fine."

"Come here." Guiding her to her lavatory, he runs the faucet in the sink. Taking her hands, he holds them under the water, scrubbing the filth from with a bar of Ivory soap. Using a small cloth, he cleans her face, trying to avoid her eye make-up as best he can. Using a hand towel, he dabs her face, before giving it over to her to dry her hands.

"Is it all gone?"

"Yes. Let us sit for a moment," he says, walking her to her chaise.

Pulling away, she twirls for him. "Do you like my new costume – the colors are very bright, but the scene the dress was designed for is a carnival."

"It is beautiful and you are beautiful wearing it. Come," he repeats holding out his hand to her.

"I feel I must move – dance – walk – run," she says, tears threatening to fall again. "Are you sure all the blood is gone from my face?"

Darius nods, rising, he goes to her and brings her to the chaise, sitting her on his lap. "You are hectic and must calm down or you will become ill."

Laying her head on his shoulder, she bites on her thumb. "Was it awful? What Reynald saw?"

"Yes."

"Did someone die?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Darius, why?"

"People hate or are greedy or have lost their way – some kill because they enjoy the act itself."

"Kiss me."

Lifting her dimpled chin, he brushes his thumb across her pink lips. "You always look ready to be kissed – do you know that?"

"No…is that good?"

"It is adorable." Brushing golden curls from her face, he kisses her.

All her fears well up at his touch and with them, desire she has never experienced before. She presses herself to him with a new intensity – an intimacy lacking in their loving, yet restrained embraces. Opening her mouth slightly as she has done in the past is not enough, she needs more and welcomes his tongue, offering hers as a token of trust.

Breath quickening, Darius hold her head to bring her closer still. He groans.

"Do you feel something new?" Meg whispers. "I feel heat and a delightful tingling in my private parts. It feels good – I like it, Darius."

"Yes, something – I am not certain what exactly, only that I wish to be closer to you – it is not enough to just hold you."

"Let me touch you," she says, reaching for the buttons of his trousers.

"I do not know – this is not the right place or time," he says, taking her wrist. "I do not wish to disappoint you – I fear I cannot be enough to satisfy you. I know how things are supposed to be."

"We will do whatever we can," she say. "I need to feel life, Darius. My body wants more than simple kisses – you said we could when we were ready. I feel ready."

The blue of her eyes and her words – his own experience of seeing yet another brutal death argues with his fear of this uncharted part of him – of them. Once again he kisses her, taking time to explore the sensation of her lips on his, the softness of her skin and her sweet breath combining with his.

When her delicate fingers touch his member, there is a sensation he is unfamiliar with – or one simply lost to his memory – a rush of blood, he feels the change – the shape and size. Joining his hand to hers, to experience this transformation with his own hand, he laughs. "Not as I have seen in others, but not as I have seen in myself, either."

Meg stands up to remove her skirt and petticoats, kicking them to one side, she returns to his side on the chaise. "No more talking – touch me and I will touch you. All will be fine."

* * *

"Do you know him?" Inspector Marquand asks, pulling his notepad out of the rumpled McIntosh.

"A new employee," Nadir says. "We believe it to be mistaken identity. Our stage manager had a set to with someone he has been running book for. Got nicked with a knife for withholding payment."

"So gambling?"

"It would seem so," Erik says. "Fake coins strewn around the body, more of the same in Reynald's pouch. Someone pulled a switch. Fool did not bother to check that he actually had real coin."

"This man resembles the stage manager?"

"They could be brothers."

Marquand walks over to Dr. Gerard who is completing his examination of the corpse. "Cause of death?"

Gerard pulls off his gloves and tosses them on the ground. Taking a towel from his bag, he wipes his hands and face. "Multiple knife wounds to the abdomen – nothing exciting – a rather common death with thugs."

"No elegance, hmm?" Marquand smirks at Erik.

"I should be grateful since Reynald is spreading rumors about the return of the Opera Ghost."

"Why is that?"

"His only physical meeting with his sponsor was last night – the man wore a black cloak and a full black face mask."

"No other meeting – how were these transactions arranged."

"All very dramatic," Nadir says. "Meeting in a dark alley – voice speaking, but no sign of a person."

"Ventriloquism – throwing one's voice," Erik says. "I have taught it to a few people here – young Andre is particularly adept, although I doubt he would be prowling alleys in the dark of night."

"Who have you taught?"

"I shall have to think on that – but anyone who has been around theater would know about it."

"Nevertheless."

"The cloak was covering his body – Reynald tripped over it."

"Where is it?"

"Inside," Nadir says. "We have not examined it – just felt it was better to have out of the alley."

Marquand nods. "Fremed take care of dealing with the body. Make a drawing of the body and pick up the coins. Figure out how much it might be were they real."

"Should I ask Mme. Dupree to make the drawing?" Fremed asks – eyes staring straight ahead.

"Much as I admire her work and understand your interest in seeing her, I think not," the Inspector says. "The scene is much too gory and I would not wish to offend her sensibilities."

"I would not be too wary of Veronique's tolerance for violence – she has seen worse I suspect," Erik says. "Ask her – let her decide."

"Very well," Marquand says. "Seek her out, Fremed – but explain the scene first."

"Yes, sir."

"We have kept everyone from using this exit," Nadir explains as they walk through the stage door to the manager's small office. "Here." The black cloak lies across the plain wooden desk. Fine wool, unadorned with the exception of small embroidered fleur-de-lis embellished with jet beading at the corners of the collar.

"Who wears a woolen cape in July?" Marquand asks.

"One might ask the same about a McIntosh," Nadir says.

"Touche."

Marquand lifts the edge of the cape with the tip of his pen, exposing the lining. "More expense – silk lining." To Dr. Gerard, "Might I have one of your gloves? There appears to be a pocket and my pen is not very efficient. Bloody mess – why would he leave his cape?"

"Because it _was_ a bloody mess," Erik smirks. "Where could that much damage be remedied? Besides, it provided camouflage in the dark."

After putting on the glove, he checks the pocket and removes a piece of heavy stock paper, handing it to Dr. Gerard. Sliding his fingers inside again – he removes another heavy piece of paper, smaller and with rounded corners. "Interesting."

Dr. Gerard returns the first piece of paper to him.

"A photograph," Marquand says, handing it to Erik. Nadir peers over his shoulder to see the likeness.

"Raoul," Erik says.

"So it would appear."

"And a playing card – the Ace of Spades."

"Claimed his caped was missing from the cloakroom last night, was upset at the loss of the photograph," Nadir says.

"No mention of the playing card," Erik says.

"I will notify him we may have his belongings," Marquand says.

* * *

Adele calls out to Erik and Nadir as they reach the door to the Phantom Securities office. "Wait for me."

Nadir runs back to accompany her, taking her arm. "Are you quite all right?"

"Just annoyed at the perpetual mishaps occurring at this Opera House – we have a few calm months, then it all starts up again."

"At least you will not be blaming me," Erik says, unlocking the door and disarming the alarm.

"If I could think of something…"

"Adele, you do not mean that."

"In the past I knew who to take to task – now the chaos is truly chaotic."

Christine and Andre both run to the door as it opens – wrapping their arms around Erik's waist.

"It appears that some people are pleased to see me," he says, embracing them, kissing Christine on the top of her head – giving Andre an extra pat on the back, before pulling away from him. "Let us allow Nadir and Adele into the room."

"What happened?" Christine asks, allowing Erik to guide her back to the settee.

"Did Reynald kill somebody?" Andre asks, bouncing around Erik, no effort being made to control his excitement.

"Sit, Andre. Sit, you are like an anxious puppy," Adele says. "We all want to know the circumstances, although I am not certain you should hear what Erik and Nadir have to tell us."

Tears threaten the boy's eyes at her words, he burrows into the settee. "_You_ will not make me leave?" he says to Erik, his lower lip sticking out.

"No, I will not make you leave – you saw enough to know someone may have died."

Christine gasps, sinking onto the sofa next to Andre, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "Who?"

"Everyone sit down. I shall make some tea then Nadir can tell you what happened. He is much better at recalling events than I am."

"I am?" The daroga looks askance at his partner.

"Your explanation and notes always help me think, so that I can solve the crime," Erik sniggers.

"I knew there was hitch to your compliment," Nadir grumbles, settling down next to Adele on his settee, taking her hand. Methodically, he recalls the events of the morning and the body in the alley.

"What of Raoul's cloak?" Christine asks.

"Marquand is handling that with him."

"Poor Raoul."

"I should not be so ready with compassion for him," Nadir says.

"Sounds like he is cheating at cards," Andre mumbles, chin on his chest.

"And why would you say that?" Adele asks.

"He was hiding an ace. I bet there are more cards hidden in the cape." His eyes confront hers.

"You are willing to gamble on that?" Erik chuckles.

Pulling himself upright, his chin jutting out, he says, "The crew members all play cards and they always have cards hidden in their pockets or up their sleeves. Then they get into fights for cheating."

"Much as I wish it were not so – and the boy not be aware of it, what he says is true," Adele says, sighing. "It is not surprising that the stage manager has a hand in it. Instead of keeping the workers working – he was likely taking bribes so they could continue playing."

"You think le Vicomte cheats at cards?" Christine asks.

"Yes," Andre says.

"Why?"

"He is always hanging about – sometimes with Monique, but lots of times just roaming around." Andre says, slouching back into the settee. "Maman always tells me that idle hands are the devil's workshop. He never has anything to do himself."

"And a child shall lead them," Adele quotes, "Isaiah 11.6."

"Is there something in particular – something you have seen or heard?" Erik asks.

A knock on the door interrupts their discussion.

"Come," says Nadir.

Alex enters twirling a walking stick. His wavy red hair is parted and smoothed flat with pomade. The plaid green morning suit, although entirely in fashion, is still alarming to the adults observing his entrance.

"Wow, I like your suit," Andre voices the one dissent, perking up at the actor's appearance.

"Thank you, young man," Alex says. "I can see that the rest of you are not so agreeable – however, I am marketing myself and people tend act based on first impressions."

"True enough – although I am forced to wonder what impression it was you were attempting to make here," Erik says. "Take a seat. Tea?"

"Tea would be lovely – two sugars and cream, if you have it."

"Since your audition has already begun, please, continue. What have you to offer the Palais Garnier?"

* * *

A/N - a big thank you to Soignante who has been providing us on tumblr with wonderful musical pieces as inspiration for our writing. Christine's memory segment of her father came from the experiment. There have been other pieces that will find their way into this story as well.


	3. Syncopation

Syncopation

With the exception of a few cleaners working at the back of the auditorium, the vast room was empty – the splendor of the gold proscenium holding court over the scarlet velvet seats, boxes to host those of the higher social classes lining the walls, with the balconies at the rear for those whose budgets were not so generous. Overhead the new crystal chandelier – at a cost of 30,000 francs – retrofitted with new mechanics assuring the government – and the patrons – it was secure and unlikely to create any future mishaps.

The small group arrives at the stage.

"However many years I have been here, there is never a time when I am not filled with awe at this room," Erik says.

"You would know," Adele says, "was this not your pride and joy?"

"You remember?"

"Indeed, I do."

"You designed this?" Alex asks, his arm sweeping the air.

"Not the artistic element – that was Charles – I actually find some of his choices gaudy. I was involved in the structural design of the building – much of what goes on within and behind the walls – when the façade fails or becomes drab, the workers need to have access…and securing the chandelier."

"The chandelier? It was in the news – a woman died."

"Sabotaged – the mechanism was tampered with," Erik says, his mouth a firm line.

Alex' eyes travel from Erik's face to Christine, Adele and Nadir's – receiving blank stares. "I heard it was the Opera Ghost."

"You heard incorrectly."

Christine tugs on his sleeve.

Erik holds up his hand, shaking his head.

"But…"

"Now is not the time – if we hire the Baron – he will hear all the stories. For the moment, we are here to watch him dance," Erik says. "Daroga would you care to seat the ladies and Andre in the auditorium? I shall play for you – any preferences?"

"Please, join your wife and friends – I will create the music with my feet," Alex responds.

"Very well," Erik quirks an eyebrow as he joins the others.

"Erik." Phillippe and Raoul trot down the aisle toward the stage.

"Phillippe, Raoul? To what do we owe the pleasure?" Erik smirks, holding up his hand to stop their progress. "Excuse me a moment, Alex. Daroga, join me."

* * *

Meg sits cross-legged on the floor against the wall, next to the main barre of the rehearsal room, grinning to herself as she sips a cup of coffee.

Her reverie shaken as Monique runs past her, tossing a black duffle on to a chair. Digging into the bag, a pair of soft black ballet shoes and a black leotard are examined and discarded. The shaking of folded towel releases several small pouches. "So that is where you were hiding."

"Good afternoon."

Monique gasps and jumps, scooping up the leather bags, throwing them into the bag. "You frightened me – why did you do that?"

Meg's blue eyes gleam as she laughs. "I said good afternoon. How is that frightening?"

"You might have said something when I came in, instead of watching me.

"I was daydreaming," Meg responds. "What are you up to?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You are usually the first one here."

"I put my new slippers in my bag – Raoul must have taken it by mistake." Monique flops onto a chair. "This is his."

"He has taken up ballet?" Meg snickers.

"No." Monique wrinkles her nose at her friend. "But does some workouts with me – trying to become more agile, he says. Keeps him busy when he is here. He likely has mine."

Meg gets up, walking over to Monique and sits down next to her – she fingers the bag. "Yours is blue."

Monique refuses to meet her eyes.

"Where did you go last night?" Meg asks.

"What do you mean?" Monique is startled by the question. "I went nowhere."

"You were not in bed this morning when I awoke."

"I rose early and left. You were sleeping so soundly, I did not wish to disturb you."

"You were not in bed when I got up during the night to get a drink of water," Meg says. "You never went to bed at all. I heard you say good night to Raoul, close the door – when he was gone – you went out again."

* * *

"_Are you certain you do not wish to have supper?" Raoul said, as Monique disarmed the alarm and unlocked the door to the flat she shared with Meg._

"_I shall have something before I go to bed – openings are so tiring." Pressing her hand on his chest, she lifted her face for his kiss. "I shall see you in the morning."_

"_I am sorry things did not go well with your brother."_

"_Alex fashions himself to be an astute comic – most of the time he is simply rude."_

"_Do expect him to be in Paris for very long?"_

"_He has been here for some time already. It was only seeing my name in the new program that he knew where to find me."_

"_So this was not the first time you have seen him?"_

"_No – we have been meeting for a couple of months now. Is that a problem? He is my brother."_

"_I would have imagined you might have told me."_

"_Well, now you know." Giving him another peck on the cheek, she opened the door. "Do not make so much of it, Raoul. Get some rest, your eyes are dark and tired."_

"_A demain, then."_

"_A demain." _

_The door closed behind her, she walked to Meg's bedroom, peeking through the curtain. Only visible the top of Meg's head was visible, her golden curls spread across the pillow. Soft breathing assured her the younger girl was asleep._

_Walking to the window overlooking the street, she watched as Raoul spoke a few words with Phillippe, before closing the coach door and walked up the street._

_After a moment, she went to her bedroom and rumpled her bed. Listening once again for any sound from Meg – hearing none – she left the apartment._

* * *

"Why did you pretend to be asleep?"

"I thought you would come in to talk – by the time I got out of bed, you were gone."

"You were spying on me?"

"No – I wanted to speak to you – about your brother, but if you were having problems with Raoul again, I did not want to impose myself."

Monique folds her hands in her lap and stares at the empty room. "Where is everyone?"

"Late – since Nicole has been gone, no one is taking the pre-show rehearsal seriously – Maman is considering bringing her back."

"Is that so?" Monique raises an eyebrow. "I am glad for that. Nicole was always kind to us."

Meg nods. "She really did very little wrong – well, the kidnapping was certainly not little, but no charges were pressed and she needs a job and she is a wonderful dance mistress and dancer."

"Madame is going to speak to Messrs. Erik and Nadir?"

"Yes – but with this new crime, well…"

"Crime?"

"The murder last night. In the alley," Meg says. "You do not know?"

Monique's glare pierces Meg, nostrils flare, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "How would I know if I was not here – am I presumed to be aware of every misdeed occurring here?"

Meg takes a moment to answer, taking in her friend's behavior. With everything Monique has been through, from her abduction to the man's murder at her hand, she has always bounced back with a serenity Meg cannot fathom, including her relationship with Raoul.

"The new workman was murdered – in the alley. Reynald found him," she finally responds.

The pale face turns ashen, enhancing the tinge of blue veining revealed by the translucent skin beneath her eyes – always present since killing M. Robert.

"You know_ something_. You look as though you have seen a ghost – and I do not mean the Opera Ghost story that someone is attempting to resurrect.

Monique rapidly shakes her head back and forth. "No, I do not."

"You refuse to tell me?"

"There is nothing to tell. I went for a walk. The night was very exciting and I was restless."

"You went walking in the dark of night – no moon – no one to accompany you?"

"I like to be alone sometimes – Raoul haunts me – now you are interrogating me."

Meg grabs her hands. "Please tell me. I know I have been useless to you in the past. I am so very sorry for that, but if there is something I can help you with now – please let me."

"There is nothing." Her lips firm. "Truly."

* * *

Erik and Nadir meet the Comte and Vicomte halfway up the aisle. "Please sit down. How may we help you?"

Each of the men settles into one of the theater seats. Phillippe looks to Raoul. "Go ahead."

"We met Inspector Marquand as he was leaving."

Erik shrugs.

"He told us what…who you found."

"Get to the point, Raoul," Phillippe says, before continuing himself, "He told us that the murdered man was covered by Raoul's cape."

"Yes, that is so," Nadir says. "What does that have to do with us?"

"My cloak was stolen from your cloakroom. Have you begun an investigation into that matter?"

"That is in the hands of the police, M. le Vicomte," Nadir says.

"He thinks I killed that man."

* * *

"_Comte, Vicomte – how fortuitous. I was on my way to your home," Marquand said._

"_For what reason, may I ask?" Phillippe asked._

"_To question le Vicomte about his missing cloak."_

"_Seriously? The inspector of police is investigating a relatively minor theft?"_

"_Not exactly. A murder. The victim was covered with a cape that fits the description of the one you claimed was stolen."_

"_It _was_ stolen."_

_Marquand held out the cape, wrapped in a tarp, lifting some of the canvass to show Raoul the pattern on the collar._

"_Yes, this appears to be my cape – the beading is something I requested," Raoul said, moving to take the garment from Marquand._

_The Inspector pulled the bundle away. "I do not believe you would wish to have it now – the body was bleeding quite heavily and lay in dirty water. I fear your garment has suffered from contact with those fluids."_

_Raoul recoiled, wrinkling his nose. "There was a photograph?"_

_Marquand removed it from his pocket and held it for the brothers to see – again preventing Raoul's attempt to take it._

"_Evidence – everything will be returned when the case has been resolved."_

"_Everything?" Phillippe asked._

"_Cape, photograph, a pouch of coins – not French mint, mind you – we have yet to identify the provenance – and several playing cards."_

_Phillippe scowled at his brother. "Gambling again."_

"_This is not the time to discuss this, brother," Raoul growls._

"_Gambling, as a crime is not my concern – however, it may become necessary as part of the investigation of a murder – M. Reynald has already told us that he performed deliveries – his words." _

"_You said the pouch had foreign coins – I have no use for them."_

"_Yes, then we must find out why they were found in your cape. Think on it, Vicomte," Marquand said, tipping his hat. "I shall be in touch soon – I am certain I will have more questions."_

"_Of course," Phillippe said._

* * *

"It would appear that the Vicomte has been rebuked," Alex says.

"Why do you say that?" Christine asks.

"He has his _I have been deeply offended_ look on his face."

Andre giggles.

"What is so funny, young man," Adele asks, taking Andre by the ear.

"Ouch," Andre squeals, holding his hand to his ear. "That is how Raoul always looks when someone does not listen to him."

"And when have you seen that?" Christine asks.

"All the time. He is always here, Mme. Christine," Andre says. "The only time he leaves her is to play cards with the workmen."

Alex chuckles.

"Do you know Raoul?" Christine asks.

"Only from a distance – Monique and I tend to meet in private – it saves explanations for her."

"Is that why none of us has met you before this?"

He nods. "I wanted to see her stage performance – she was so excited about her solo – I insisted she allow me to attend. I have watched from the wings on several occasions during rehearsals, when Raoul was not lurking over her. However, the theater and the audience – well, she validated everything she fought for with our father. I only wish my mother could see her."

"In his defense, Monique has been through much these past months and Raoul is protective of her," Adele says. "He has always been a gentlemen. Before my marriage and moving house, I was often present when they were together."

"Thank you for that – she told me of your concern and care."

"But Raoul's attentions bother you?" Christine asks.

"When she asks him to leave her be for a while, he…let me show you," Alex says, going on to mimic the vicomte – strutting with his head thrown back, mouth turned down, nose in the air.

Andre's laughter is infectious and the two women join in at the impersonation.

"Stop it, Andre," Adele says, covering her mouth. "That is impolite. Raoul is a noble and a good man."

"I am not so sure of his goodness, Madame," Alex says. "But my sister is fond of him, and I shall do my best to support her in the relationship."

* * *

"Were I in his shoes, I would suspect the same thing," Nadir says. "Having been a sheriff for many years in Persia, one starts with what one has. He has your cape – you did confirm it was yours?"

Raoul gives an abrupt nod, his lips pursed.

"Said cape was covered with what appeared to be the blood of Gregor Dorette – his name, by the way."

"But the cloak was stolen – why must I find it necessary to continue reminding you of that?" His eyes granite.

"I might ask you the same question," Erik replies, leaning into the vicomte, lifting his chin with a finger, forcing Raoul to look at him.

Raoul swats his hand away, rising from his seat.

"Oh, sit down," Erik says. "You accuse yourself when you continue to plead your supposed innocence."

Nadir holds up his hand, scolding Erik with a harsh look. "Enough of this squabbling." Turning to Raoul, he says, "The Inspector was informed that you reported the loss to us."

"You think he is guilty?" Phillippe asks Erik, falling back into his seat, flopping his arms on the rests. "Why?"

"Now that is a question, my cousin," Erik snickers.

"Stop using that expression," Raoul growls.

"Raoul, please, you are not helping," Phillippe crosses his legs, waving a hand at his brother.

"He says it only to mock us."

"He says it because it is true and I, for one, am not offended," Phillippe responds. "I apologize for his behavior."

"My behavior is just fine," Raoul says. "You two are being all chummy when the police believe me guilty of murder and robbery."

"Was someone robbed?" Nadir asks.

"There were coins found," Phillippe says.

"Fake," Nadir says. "Some sort of financial interaction gone awry."

"No, there was a pouch of coins – gold and silver – in one of the pockets. The inspector did not know what country they were from."

Erik and Nadir exchange looks.

"A message, then?" Erik says. "I wonder for whom?"

"The only items we saw removed from a pocket were your photograph and a playing card," Nadir says.

"Why would they think you guilty of robbery if the money was still in your cloak?" Erik asks.

"Exactly," Raoul says.

"Marquand must have done a further examination after we left him,' Nadir says. "Did he find anything else?"

"No," Raoul snaps.

"Yes." Phillippe contradicts him, his brow furrowed. "Several more playing cards."

Erik and Nadir both chuckle. "Andre."

"What about Andre?" Raoul asks.

"Nothing."

Rising, Erik says, "I have an audition to conduct. Perhaps we can take this up later. I should like to know more about the foreign coinage."

Nadir nods. "I shall send an inquiry to Edouard – perhaps we can examine them."

"Good idea," Erik says. "In the meantime, come along to the front. Feel free to watch. Monique's brother will be dancing for us – you might find it worthwhile."

* * *

Tapping the walking stick in front of him, Alex sets up a rhythm, swaying back and forth. Soon the cane is tossed from one hand to the other. His feet still – only his body moving – head nodding. Then the gentlest of noises – a tapping sound from one foot – right, left, right, left. Tappity, tap, tap, tap. The other foot, shuffles – two, three times, front to back. Without warning a swirl of movement and sound, knees lifted, turns and kicks – Alex' feet moving so swiftly they are hypnotized, caught up in the precision of his skill.

After a leap in the air, he lands on the floor in a split. The dance is over.

Adele and Andre jump to their feet, applauding, Adele exclaiming, "I can see you performing a brilliant entrechat had you embraced ballet like your sister."

Phillippe joins Christine and Nadir in their appreciation. Murmuring to one another about how unusual and exciting the performance was.

"He did study ballet with me until our father saw him and forbade both of us from dancing," Monique says as she steps out of the wings, Meg appearing a beat later. "That was brilliant, my brother. I could not be more proud."

Alex turns to bow to his sister, opening his arms to her as she runs to embrace him. They both turn to Erik, the question of approval in their eyes.

"We will add your dance to the staging – part of the Carnival scene, I think, Adele?"

"Yes – a solo. But I think maybe something with Monique, as well," she say. "We shall come up with something wonderful. A new tune is required."

"At your service, Madame Giry," Erik says.

"Can I learn to dance that way?" Andre asks.

"Of course, if Alex wishes to teach you," Erik replies. "Alex, beware if you agree – the boy is a prodigy."

"So I am hired?"

"You are hired – Adele will work out the details."

One could imagine the carrot-topped twins as children, hands joined – circle dancing across the boards of the Palais Garnier stage.

"Raoul, is this not wonderful?" Monique calls out to him, when she notices his presence.

"Yes, my dear, wonderful," he says, forcing a smile, clapping his hands toward Alex. "Most wonderful."

* * *

Darius enters the Security Office, grinning, casually tossing a folder onto Nadir's desk in front of him. "Gregor Dorette."

"Where did you disappear to?" Nadir asks. "I do not believe I have ever seen your teeth so exposed in good humor. You look pleased with yourself." Flipping open the folder with the tip of his pen. "This is his employment file, application, references…what do you want me to see?"

"Raoul de Chagny is listed as a personal reference."

Adele, walks to the desk to pull the file toward her. "I completely forgot that piece of information – the Vicomte's recommendation was the reason I hired him. He had no experience in carpentry, but said he was a hard worker and a fast learner."

"So either Raoul killed him or someone set this up to look like Raoul killed him."

"Or le Vicomte had nothing to do with it," Darius interjects. "There are a number of gangs roaming the streets."

Adele snorts.

"True enough," Nadir responds. "But I see that as a longshot."

Darius continues to smile, hands behind his back, bouncing on his heels.

"You are beaming like an electric bulb – what else?"

"Nothing. It is a beautiful day and I am pleased to being doing a good job," he responds. "If there is anything else you need…"

"Do more follow up on this Dorrette – where he worked before coming here. I know that Reynald must know him."

"My pleasure." Darius bows and leaves the room.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Adele asks. Her eyes meet Nadir's and a smile breaks over her face. "I shall check in with my daughter. Something tells me they have managed to work things out and have expanded the boundaries of their relationship." Bending to kiss him on the cheek, she turns to the door.

"Wait," Nadir says, reaching for her hand. "Come here."

Her cheeks color as she sits on her new husband's lap. "We should be working."

"Everyone in this place seems to be using this magnificent building for assignations – I see no reason why we should not take advantage of our privacy to do the same – we certainly spend more time here than at home."

"I had no idea you felt so strongly about this."

"My former houseman, a young eunuch I brought from Persia is having romantic relations – do you know how bizarre that seems to me."

"With your stepdaughter, no less."

"Exactly – now kiss me and act like you mean it," he laughs.

"Oh, I mean it – soon you shall be smiling as brightly as Darius."

* * *

"What did you think of him?" Christine asks, putting the sandwiches she has prepared for luncheon ton a plate – adding it to the silver tray is already laden with teapot, cups, crudité, and fresh fruit.

Erik carries the tray into the dining room, setting it on the table. Instead of taking his seat, he attempts to replicate some of the steps he saw Alex perform, throwing in a few kicks and a spin.

"You like him." Christine says, taking her seat at the table, resting her chin on her fist to watch him.

"What does that mean – I like him?"

"You are dancing…happy. The audition went well – you like him."

"I liked his performance. We shall leave the determination as to him after some time passes." Erik removes his mask, leaving it on the buffet before joining her at the table. He picks through the sandwiches, choosing a half from each, then fills the rest of his plate with crudité and condiments.

"The audition certainly energized you. Where did you learn those steps?"

"Most of it was Alex – thank you very much – I am a quick study, if not terribly apt. I would observe Russian kazotsky dancing, which was generally accompanied by enormous amounts of grunting, sweat and vodka. They incorporate leaps and splits as well – things I dare not try in this environment nor at my age."

"Your age is just fine, but, I agree, please do not start gamboling about the room. What you have just performed had me mildly terrified for the furniture."

"His dance technique is refined and deliberate – I doubt I could match anything he performed for us, but I should like to try."

"Do you suppose Alex wants to be a teacher?"

"Why not? I shall pay him – I am sure he would welcome the funds."

"His employment in finance not paying well enough?"

"I am certain the pay is exemplary – the work, relatively easy, but longevity cannot be guaranteed."

"Gambling?"

"As we saw with our Reynald and poor, Gregor."

"You suspect Raoul is involved in this somehow, do you not?"

"How can I not?" Erik puts down his sandwich. He informs her of the discussion he and Nadir had with Phillippe and Raoul.

Any appetite she had is gone, she pushes her plate away, rising to go to him.

Pushing his chair back, he opens his arms to gather her onto his lap. "I do not make up these situations he creates for himself."

"I know."

"_It is only a small sum, Christine – you risk nothing you cannot earn back in a day."_

"_I do not dance my feet sore and bleeding in order to throw money away on a horse winning a race or not."_

"_This is different – you will be backing someone, a card player who is most experienced at winning. You help finance him and then receive a portion of his winnings."_

"_You are wealthy, why must you gamble?_

"_It is exciting."_

"_But what if you lose?"_

"_Then I play again and win."_

"_I think not. Pappa would not approve. Money was too hard to come by for us."_

"I just wish for once we could be rid of having to question his behavior."

"There is no joy in my heart about this, trust me, if only for the pain it causes you."

"I often wonder if he might have been happier had he taken his commission in the Navy."

"For all of his foolishness, my dear, had he not acted so recklessly, you might not be here on my lap and I might still be lurking behind a mirror longing for you."

"So Raoul is really our guardian angel," she asks, toying with the graying strands of hair. "You know, I think my treatments are actually working. Your hair is much thicker."

"At least you did not say it was my skull."

Their kiss is warm and sweet. "Pickles." Christine brings his head to her breast, continuing to stroke his head.

Closing his eyes at her touch, he asks, "Do you suppose we have time for a nap? All that dancing…"

Laughing, she says, "I suppose a nap would do us both good, after all the excitement of this afternoon."

Lifting her up, he carriers her to the bedroom, he says, "I hoped you would agree."


	4. Reflections

Reflections

The face on the coin thrust Erik back in time, dissolving the almost thirty years since he rode along the banks of the Caspian sea, escaping Persia, the palace, the brutality and terror to himself and that which he inflicted upon others.

* * *

"_Shah?"_

"_My sister is bored, Ereek. What can you do to entertain her?"_

* * *

"_What indeed, he wondered – they were fascinated with mirrors. The little sultana loved to watch others, but preferred, primarily, to watch herself indulging in the acts of violence her own imagination created. Binding her maids, legs open, genitals exposed – small eggs would be inserted into their vaginas then snakes allowed to feed. The maids screaming in both terror and what the khanum believed to be sexual ecstasy was a pastime she never tired of. The multiple images titillated her as nothing else could._

"_Have you ever thought of experiencing the sensation yourself?" Erik asked, his eyebrow quirked in challenge._

"_I should much prefer your snake" was her retort._

"_Ah, but we have already had that discussion – I fear you are no temptation to me."_

* * *

"_A room of mirrors, perhaps, where insolent servants and citizens can be tricked into believing fire is water and in their final agonies hang themselves from a noose."_

"_Indeed, let it be so, I suspect I should enjoy that entertainment myself."_

"_As you wish."_

* * *

Erik and Nadir sit across one another at their partners' desk reviewing the newest installations Phantom Security has taken on – Christine sitting on the sofa closest to Erik as she knits a pale blue sweater for the expected baby, when there is a knock on the door.

"Enter," Erik says, smiling when the rumpled figure of Inspector Marquand enters.

"Edouard," Nadir says, "Thank you for coming here."

"There are questions that must be asked of your personnel, so I would have been here regardless. Fremed has already begun, I shall join him shortly."

"Tea?" Christine asks.

"No, thank you, Madame," Marquand says. "A blue sweater? Your child will be both warm and well dressed – unlike my own poor self."

"I would be happy to knit you a sweater, Inspector," Christine says. "That is, if your wife would be amenable."

"She is a blessed woman, putting up with me, but has no skills with sewing or knitting," he responds. "However, you offer excellent advice."

"Please at least have a seat," Erik says.

Marquand shakes his head. "I came to bring you the coins – since you have traveled the world, you might be able to tell us where they originated." Handing the gold coin to Erik, he waits for his impression.

Erik drops the qajar on the desk, as if his own fingers are burned by the memory. "Naser al-Din Shah Qajar – this is one of the foreign coins you found in Vicomte de Chagny's cloak?"

Nadir picks up the coin, rubbing the embossed head with his thumb. "There are others?"

"Several of these gold pieces along with silver coins," Inspector Marquand answers, taking another coin from his pocket, placing it on the desk next to the qajar."

"Dinar," Nadir says. "A nice take, if this was a gambling win."

"The problem with this, as the daroga will confirm, is that those who follow Mohammed do not gamble."

"May I see the coin – the gold one with the image of the Shah?" Christine asks, rising from the settee, holding out her hand.

"Of course." Nadir lays it on her palm.

Holding the disc between her thumb and middle finger, she examines the image.

Erik watches her face harden and her eyes darken from aqua to jade, her upper lip curls into a sneer.

Returning the qajar to Nadir, she says, "Thank you." When she faces Erik, her eyes are filled with tears, some breaking free to run slowly down her cheeks. "Would it be odd to say his is the most repulsive face I have ever seen? Yet you are the one who was scorned."

"I created evil as well – I have told you – Nadir knows," Erik replies.

"You were not born with beauty, wealth and power – this…person had no excuse for his base actions," she says, going to him, touching his exposed cheek with her hand.

Marquand clears his throat. "May I assume that you were acquainted with the man whose image is embossed on this coin?"

"Yes," Erik says, standing up, taking Christine's hand, to lead her back to the settee, sitting down next to her.

"He is the Shah of Persia – Erik designed and built his palace. I was a sheriff…daroga under his rulership," Nadir explains.

"Not a benevolent monarch, I take it," Marquand says, pocketing the coins. "So we are interested in someone, or a group of Persians?"

"The evidence seems to suggest as much," Erik says.

"A knowledge of the language and culture would be helpful," the Inspector says.

"We shall provide whatever assistance we can," Nadir rises from the desk, leading Marquand to the door. "Let us find Darius, the Persian community here is made up mostly of young students – he would be better able to make inquiries than I."

"Thank you for your assistance – I am sorry that this meeting awakened old, less than pleasant memories," the Inspector says. "Madame, I shall inquire how my wife feels about my accepting a custom-made sweater from another woman."

"Are you all right?" Christine asks Eric, taking his long thin hands in hers, running her fingers over the scars that run like small white rivers from wrists to fingertips.

"These scars are from another time and place, my dear. I cannot put the blame for them on the Shah or little Sultana."

"When?"

* * *

_The sight of his mother adjusting her hat in front of the glass fascinated him. The door to her boudoir was open a fraction, the latch not catching properly. She would be furious if she saw him there watching – but she was so beautiful and he could see two of her. How was that possible?_

_It was his birthday – or so she told him, and she would be bringing him a special treat upon her return from the village. His wish was only to be with her – well, with her and a touch – a kiss, but that was unlikely. He would accept the gift – likely a book or, perhaps a new violin. His music she allowed – welcomed, even._

_Her movements alerted him to the completion of her toilette, sending him scampering silently down the hall to his own room, closing the door softly behind him, to wait._

_At the sound of the front door being locked, he returned to her room – curious about the piece of glass that reflected his mother's image._

_What was this? A boy with a cloth mask on his face looked back at him. Could it be me?_

_Taking his own mask in hand, he lifted it from his face – curious to see what the glass would reveal. Amber eyes grew large in terror at what he saw before him. Distorted lips, red, too red and thick – one side of the head looking as though someone poured hot wax causing an eye, an ear, a cheek to meld together in random ridges – leaving a chasm in the skull where bone and skin should be. Screams pierced his ears, forcing him to cover them, block the noise coming from his own mouth. _

"_Monster!"_

_Repeatedly thrusting both fists against the glass, it shattered, cutting his hands, blood splattered over the dressing table and all of Madeleine's perfume bottles – her combs and brushes. His own clothing was covered in red and shards of the hiding place of the demon._

_Relieved, he sank to the floor, his racing heart calm, breathing back to normal._

"_I killed the monster. It cannot hurt her. Thank you, God. Thank you."_

* * *

"The first time I saw my face - the first person I killed was myself. For all her coldness, she protected me from my own face. The only mirror in the house was locked in her room."

Gently removing his mask, she kisses the edge of his mouth, distorted and over-sized, but soft and so comforting when pressed against her own lips and the other parts of her body he has explored. "I wish she could have known you – your love for her."

"Alas, she did not, but you have helped diminish a great level of the pain – and for that I am so grateful," he says, reversing the hand-holding, taking hers – primarily soft and smooth, but with her own share of calluses from her knitting and sewing and other labors she partakes in. No privileged person, she, not his Christine.

"The Shah?"

"You have seen the results of his handiwork on the rest of my body."

"You would not bend to him…"

"No – the torture was a sort of game – to keep me aware of his power."

"Do you suppose he is behind this in some way – or, the little sultana, as you call her?"

"We are the same age – he has been to Europe – I cannot think that he is still interested in me so long as he still believes I am dead – and there is no reason for him to think otherwise."

"What of her?"

"Thirty years - her memory would be long, longer than his, no doubt. Again, though, any interest would arise if I was believed to have escaped."

"But this Persian community?"

"Opposed to his rule from what I understand."

"Still…"

"There is always that...still…"

* * *

The rehearsal room is empty with the exception of Alex and Monique sitting with their heads together, hands entwined, giggling. From a distance, it is almost impossible to tell them apart – with Monique's hair cropped short – by choice, now, rather than being part of the aftermath of her abduction. Long-legged and finely boned in matching blue leotards, Monique eschewing the dancing dress worn by the other ballet rats. The only apparent distinctive piece of apparel – their shoes. Alex in fine black leather with metal pieces attached to sole and heel. Monique in her newest slippers – Erik's gift.

"The loving siblings," Raoul says, dressed in a morning suit of a conservative gray tweed, with a pale blue waistcoat offering a touch of color carrying a black duffle bag. "May I join you?

Monique jumps to her feet, skipping to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. "Of course, my darling," she says. "It is about time you and Alex got to know one another better."

Alex leans forward, pressing himself to his feet to do a light tap shuffle. "I am not convinced that your beau wishes to know me better."

"Nor you, I," Raoul responds. "However, I happen to be in love with your sister – I have to believe that you share similar qualities beyond a passion for dance that might induce me to find some affection for you as well."

"So you do recognize it as a passion – not just something she enjoys?" Alex asks. "She gave up quite a lot to pursue her dream."

"I am aware of that – yes, I spend a great deal of time watching her."

"It has been noticed."

"That does not bother me – despite my seeming ignorance, I am aware of what most people think of me – I am reminded of it often enough by my brother among others. I have my reasons, not all of which have to do with obsession – although there is that." The barest smile crosses his face as he looks down on her upturned face.

"Raoul, you do not have to say these things – Alex is being protective of me, he does not know…"

"Know what?"

"That is for Monique to tell you – let us just say, I am concerned for her safety – even at times when she herself is not concerned," he says, tousling her curls.

Monique frowns, her eyes narrow and lips purse.

Alex looks back and forth between them – observing the silent dialogue. "Monique?"

"Not now," she says, her eyes flash at him.

* * *

_Why did he have to cut her hair? Oh, yes, his mother had beautiful hair. But why could she not have beautiful hair as well?_

_She was grateful he was leaving her alone now – she felt her body starting to heal – the pain between her legs and the bruising slowly becoming just a memory. Her dreams were still filled with the bulk of the man ramming his member into her over and over, day after day, for weeks – then stopped. Stopped even looking at her. Forgetting her for days at a time. Making her grateful for the times he remembered – for only then would she have food and clean water. Could empty her chamber pot and wash herself._

_She was different in other ways – her courses had stopped and, as a dancer, she felt a difference in the way her body responded to her efforts to dance – her balance, ability to bend and turn required adjustment._

_When she told him of her condition – he beat her and threw her away. Free again._

* * *

"In due time, Alex," she says. "I will tell you of all my…adventures in due time."

"Someone hurt you – I understand that."

"You understand nothing, but you will, I promise. For now, I just want to dance with you."

"As you wish, I have no desire to pry."

Taking the bag from Raoul, she places it on the floor, then wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. "Raoul takes care of me now."

They both glance at the duffle, before looking at one another.

Alex' eyes narrow – again, the silent dialogue between the woman he no longer knows and the man she seems to both love and hate. "I shall respect your wishes, my sister. You deserve nothing but love and understanding. My intention is not to offend either you or the vicomte."

Her face brightens and she gives Raoul another kiss on the cheek, then rejoins Alex – rewarding him in kind. "Shall we begin working on our routine?"

"Routine?" Raoul asks.

"Madame Giry has asked us to create a dance for the show – she felt it would be a novelty and would encourage a new audience for the Garnier."

"Indeed," Raoul says. "I can see that." He manages a small smile. "May I observe, or do you prefer to work in private."

"Please stay," Monique says. "That is all right, Alex, is it not?"

"If that is what makes you comfortable – I love an audience."

"An honest man," Raoul chuckles, picking up the bag and taking a seat along the wall.

"You do have a sense of humor."

"I did once, but lost it somewhere along the way – if it has somehow reappeared, I am as surprised as you are."

* * *

"I am most grateful for this opportunity," Nicole says, lingering at the door. Always thin, lithe now seeming brittle – her hair, never a glowing blonde like Meg's, is now streaked with grey, belying her still young age.

"You are a gifted and dedicated dancer – and the girls like and trust you," Adele says. "Take a seat. Please. Tea?"

"That would be lovely." Sitting on the chaise, her eyes take in the calm greens and creams of Adele's office. "Your office has always seemed such a haven."

"Much needed, as you are aware," Adele says, holding a tray in front of her with an almost translucent cup and saucer on it.

"Help yourself to sugar and cream – and a cookie or two."

"Thank you." Taking the cup, she places it on the coffee table, adding two macarons."

"How is your mother?"

"Dr. Berber-Perdue has been most kind. She has accommodations in his home – with a caregiver."

"I am sorry."

"Yes, she could not deal with what she had done."

"And you?"

"I have my rooms – again thanks to Dr. Berber-Perdue, but my funds are limited."

"Have you worked at all?"

"There is not much available – however, I do run errands to pick up extra money."

"Errands?" Adele quirks an eyebrow.

Nicole turns her head away.

"What sort of errands?"

"I cannot talk about it, Madame. Please do not ask."

"Gambling – delivering payoffs?"

The absence of a reply is the reply.

"Maman, I heard Nicole was here," Meg says rushing through the door. "Oh, it is true." Not bothering to close the door, she continues to her friend's side wrapping her in a hug.

Nicole laughs at Meg, trying to retain her balance. Failure leads to both girls landing on the floor – giggling.

Adele smiles, shaking her head. "Marguerite, just when I think you are becoming a woman, you remind me once again of your youth."

"I am me, Maman – would you have me different? You are smiling, after all," Meg says, grinning. Jumping to her feet, she pulls Nicole up – both of them flopping onto the chaise.

"I suppose not," Adele admits. "Nicole and I were just discussing how she has been these past months."

"You look tired, Nicole – and worn – are you well?

"Yes, I am fine in that regard – I just miss dancing and my friends here."

"Maman – can you bring Nicole back? I am certain no one would object."

"Are you now?"

"Please do not argue over me – I would be most grateful to be here in any capacity."

"Maman, please…"

"Meg, I must ask Nicole some important questions. You can stay here and be quiet or I must ask you to leave."

Meg bows her head and nods. Taking Nicole's hand, she squeezes it, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

"Regarding these errands you run – it must stop."

"You are running errands," Meg blurts out.

"Meg!"

Nicole pats Meg's hand. "Yes, Meg, I have been making deliveries of bets and winnings." Biting her lips, she straightens her back and breathes deeply before responding, "Thank you, Madame, but I do not know if I can quit."

Adele tilts her head. "Why not?"

"They killed Gregor."

"He was the intended victim?"

"Oh, yes. After he got the job here, his wife insisted he only do honest work. The word was he asked to quit but they would not let him."

"Why," Meg asks. "It seems to me anyone can pick something up and deliver it."

"The delivery points were known to him – he was a dispatcher."

"Do you know who killed him?"

"No – no. I am just a runner. I get a note on where to pick up the pouches and where to deliver them – always someplace neutral – an alleyway usually. Gregor set them up."

"We need to speak with Nadir and Erik," Adele says.

"Please, no, Madame," Nicole says. "Just let me work."

"She is afraid, Maman," Meg says.

"Someone was killed already. I have no intention of allowing that to happen to anyone else – most particularly my dance mistress."

"Really – dance mistress?" Nicole says, her face brightens – the young ballerina back again.

"Yes, but all of this must be discussed with Nadir and Erik – you may be able to help."

Nicole's brow furrows – she looks to Meg, whose own concern shows in her blue eyes. "Nadir is my father now and Uncle Erik would never let harm come to you."

* * *

Without waiting for a response to her knock, Adele enters the Security office with Nicole and Meg on her heels. The three women are surprised to find Christine and Erik seated on the settee, holding one another, heads together – silent, except for a gentle humming in harmony – a song none of them could identify.

Adele clears her throat.

Their eyes open, surprised at the appearance of the trio, but comfortable enough to relax their embrace to a holding of hands.

"To what do we owe this honor, Madame?" Erik smirks. His eyes drifting immediately to the young woman he last saw months ago – the young woman who led him on a chase through the Paris streets in quest of a murderer.

"I am in need of a dance mistress and Nicole is suitably trained for the position," Adele responds – prepared to argue if necessary, if her stance, cane planted as if in stone in front of her is any indication - there is no softness on her aging, but still attractive face. The only concession to concern is a look toward Christine, whose own eyes are locked with Nicole's.

"How is your mother?" Christine asks.

"She is in care." Nicole drops her eyes, unable to hold Christine's gaze. "Perhaps this is not the best idea, Madame," she says. "I am sorry to have bothered you – I was not thinking…" Turning to leave, Meg grabs her arm.

"Christine, you would not refuse Nicole – would you?" Meg asks, holding Nicole in her arms so she cannot leave.

* * *

"_Please. Why?"_

"_It does not matter. You are not going to give birth to this child – you should be thanking me. Monster father – monster baby. I shall make it so you will not have to worry about that in the future."_

"_You do not know – it does not matter – I love her. Please."_

"_Let me use the chloroform – that will make it easier."_

* * *

Christine shakes her head – returning to the present.

"Are you all right," Erik asks, pulling her close, holding her head to his chest. "Perhaps you should go – all of you." His eyes burn into Adele. "What could you have been thinking?"

"She is needed," Adele insists. "She also knows about the gambling..."

Christine pulls away from Erik's enough to face Nicole again. "You know the killer?"

Taking a deep breath, Nicole turns around, shaking her head. "No, I am but a messenger, however, I am willing to help in whatever way I can."

Looking up at Erik, Christine says, "I should like to speak with Nicole in private. Perhaps you," waving her arms toward Adele and Meg, "can find Nadir and Inspector Marquand."

"You are certain?" Mask notwithstanding, his concern is telegraphed in his golden eyes and the tone of his voice.

"Yes." Patting his hands, she releases them. "Go."

* * *

"Adele, Meg?" Nadir frowns as he watches the women approach. "What now?"

"Nicole came for an interview for dance mistress and she told us that she is one of the delivery people and knew Gregor and Christine wanted to talk to her about her mother, so we came to find you and Inspector Marquand to tell you and to bring you back to the office to meet with her," Meg rattles off only stopping to take a breath.

"I swear, there are days when I cannot differentiate between you and Andre," Adele says.

Darius exchange a glance with Marquand, explaining, "Meg tends to speak her mind without counsel at times, but her words are generally the truth."

"So the daughter of the woman who attacked Mme. Saint-Rien is a member of what appears to be some sort of gang?" Marquand asks.

"That is what she told Meg and me," Adele responds. "I was hoping to give her employment again. When asked about her current occupation, she said she was a messenger."

"And she is with Mme. Saint-Rien now – alone?"

"Not exactly."

* * *

"_Bring Nadir and Marquand back here – Darius if he is with them as well."_

"_Where are you going?"_

"_You know very well where I shall be. Nicole may not be a threat. My concern is for both of them. If Nicole is involved in this – it is possible she is being watched."_

"_What about revealing the door to her – or Marquand?"_

"_When you return to the office, I will find my way back in the fashion of normal people. Now go, quickly. I want to hear what they are saying."_

* * *

Indicating the sofa opposite hers, Christine says, "Please sit down, Nicole." Folding her hands over her growing belly, she strokes the child developing within her, hoping to soothe nerves. _How much of this affects the baby?_

The gesture is not lost on Nicole. "Madame Christine, I cannot tell you how deeply sorry I am for what happened to you."

"What of the others?"

"I did not know about anyone else – except for Marie-Corrinne – but only after…"

"How could you not?"

"My mother…"

"Your mother tried to kill my baby – and possibly, likely me." The aqua-colored eyes are hard as the stone they resemble. "She killed three other women and took their babies."

"She said they died by accident, that Dr. Perdue used too much anesthesia – I did not know it was she doing the surgeries." Her strength completely drained – her shoulders slump and the fine posture fades. "I could not allow myself to see." Tears flood her eyes. "She was my mother."

"You helped the other girls…"

"That was all I wanted – I thought I was – then she went mad – she sees and hears nothing – mumbles gibberish."

The ballerina's pain is palpable.

The unusual rigidity harnessing Christine's normal compassion softens along with her eyes and voice. "So you became a delivery person?"

"To earn a living – Dr. Berber-Perdue helps, but he is already taking full responsibility for my mother."

"You need this job?"

Nicole nods. "Very much – not just for the money, but because I love the dance. I have been as if dead myself."

Studying the young woman, the dress tattered at the hem and edges of the sleeves – the drawn face – lines of suffering etched around her eyes and mouth. Christine sighs. "I understand," she says. "I shall not object."

Nicole jumps up and rushes to Christine, kneeling on the floor in front of her.

Christine gasps, drawing back, raising an arm in front of her. "Please, please, get up."

The sound of the mirror latch distracts her.

_I am here._

Recovering, but breathing heavily, she says, "I become anxious when people come too close."

Nicole rises, backing away until she reaches the sofa. "I am so deeply sorry – I only wished to thank you." Her tears fall in earnest as she lowers herself back onto the settee.

The latch sounds again.

"Do a good job for Adele and for the Inspector," Christine says, this time turning her attention toward the door to the hallway. "Here they are now."

* * *

The dim quiet of her dressing room – alone with Erik - finally allows Christine to return to her earlier calm. Sitting on his lap, Erik showers her face with gentle kisses - smoothing the curls away from her face, still damp from the perspiration born of her earlier fear. "I heard you…"

"Good – and that helped?"

She nods, throwing her arms around his neck. "I knew she was not her mother – but I could see her – she became that evil woman. Nicole would not hurt me, but I was confused and afraid when she approached so quickly."

"Shhhh, you behaved as anyone would. You are more than brave, my dearest one."

"She is a good dancer – she only wants to dance. I could not take that from her."

"No, you could not."

Relaxing her hug, her eyes search his. "Will the fear ever go away?"

"When the baby is born – you will still have the bitter memory…"

"But it will lessen?"

"Yes."

Seeing no deception in his eyes, she lays her head on his shoulder, smiling as he rests his lips on her forehead.


	5. Conciliation

Conciliation

"You truly are a Prima Donna, in the best possible way," Erik says, as he takes Christine's capelet, hanging it on the coat rack inside the door. Removing his own jacket, he fills the kettle, putting it on the stove and removes cups, saucers and plates from the cupboard.

Sitting at the small table, she takes a peach from the fruit bowl and bites into it, dabbing the juice from her chin with a napkin. "How so?"

"Your performance suffered not a whit tonight, despite the stress you were under." Examining the larder, he removes a baguette, a block of cheese, and a jar of mustard. "Herring?"

"Of course – and some jam for the bread. I have no taste for any more salt tonight."

Erik chuckles, "Not a whit, yet wit."

"I am a clever girl, am I not?"

"You are indeed, but pickles are salty… and jam? Never mind, forget I asked this yet again. Pickled herring is in your blood and can be served with anything."

"Precisely."

"I must admit I am getting used to the blending of the flavors – so long as a kiss is involved." Bending down he puts a plate in front of her with her requests, stealing his kiss before responding to the rattle of the boiling kettle.

"Do you think that Nicole was being truthful, when you were all questioning her?"

"Did you?"

Christine releases a short "hah."

"What?"

"None of you gave her the opportunity to lie."

* * *

"_What is your connection to this gambling ring?" Erik asked Nicole._

"_I get a note – at my home, under the door – delivered sometime during the day or night."_

"_Every day?"_

"_No – and at no particular time of day. If there is a note – an address and time is given to pick up a pouch – another address and time is provided for delivery."_

"_How do you get paid?"_

"_One franc for ten – it can be a lot or a little, but there is always something."_

"_That sounds generous," Nadir asked._ _"French currency only?"_

"_Yes." Chewing her lower lip, her eyes fell briefly, before returning his direct gaze. "What use would I have for any other sort of payment?" _

"_None, I suppose – so why are you lying?"_

"_I am not," she asserted. " .not," she repeated, her tone faltering. "Once. There once was a coin I did not know."_

"_Gold or silver?" Nadir asked._

"_Gold."_

"_Like this?" Marquand tossed the qajar across the desk at her._

_Picking up the coin, she nodded, before placing it back onto the desk. "I did not know what it was – how much it was worth – just that it was gold."_

"_What did you do with it?"_

"_Returned it to the pouch and removed a franc."_

"_How did you get involved?" Erik resumed questioning._

"_One of the ballet girls."_

"_Who?"_

"_I do not remember."_

"_Indeed."_

"_Please, M. Erik, I am afraid – the fact I am in your office…"_

"_You are applying for – and have been hired as – dance mistress." Adele said._

"_If we are to protect you, we must have some idea from whom." Marquand interjected._

"_Jeannette – she told me to speak with Reynald about earning more money."_

"_When was this?"_

"_After my mother was taken away and I lost my position here. She was a friend."_

"_Do you know if she is a messenger?"_

"_No."_

"_Are you familiar with any other runners?"_

"_Just Reynald – he told me about Gregor."_

"_What did he tell you?"_

"_Only that there was a concern about pilfering – Gregor was supposed to monitor everyone."_

* * *

"Are you certain you will be comfortable with her working at the Opera House?" He asks, removing his mask and wig – tucking them onto a shelf in the coat rack.

Christine's face tightens, her lips become a straight line, her eyes blank. "My response was a lapse – Nicole intended me no harm today."

Standing behind her, he wraps his arms around her shoulders, pressing his lips against her curls. "I should have let you know I was close sooner."

Christine takes his hands in hers, kissing first on then the other. "My darling man, I knew you were there – watching, listening."

"But your response…"

"A lapse – as I said." The tone is sharp – her shoulders stiffen under his embrace. "I became confused. She does look somewhat like her mother, you know."

Moving in front of her, he falls to his knees, gazing into her always kind and loving eyes, but at the moment harbor uncertainty and distance. "A lapse to the time when I was not there for you."

"You came," is her terse response.

The tone stings – always aware of sound, melody and rhythm. His first reaction is to remove himself_. I failed her – this is my punishment. It was bound to happen. Fool._

"You came," she says again, looking down at him, pressing her hand against his cheek.

_A balm. _"I should never have left." His long fingers smooth her hair. "You are still afraid."

"You came in time. I remembered that today, even as I re-experienced my fear." Her fingers drift to his sparse hair, unconsciously twirling the strands. "I cannot bear the idea that I must have you or anyone else hovering over me. It would be like prison."

"Do you wish me to not be so near?" The pressure in his chest is so strong, he is certain she can hear his heart beating.

"That is not what I meant. I want you near me – I want to be near you. It gives me comfort. I just do not want to feel afraid if you are not near." She lifts his chin, eyes narrowing, brow furrowed. "My reaction to Nicole was a surprise to me. I was annoyed – angered at her presence – the fear was a surprise."

"Perhaps that is a good thing – being angry – better than fear – with anger you act. You are not acted upon. You had every right to be angry."

"At Nicole?"

"At whomever." He moves to pull his chair closer to hers and takes a seat, reclaiming her hands.

"At myself because I did not fight back hard enough?"

"I would say you did some damage with the knitting needles." Allowing himself a chortle, reminding her that she did fight back. "You could be angry at me. At God. Mostly, though at Isabella, I should think – you did nothing to encourage her behavior."

"Is that who_ you_ are angry with?"

"Yes, she is one among many." His laugh is dry, more comfortable in the conversation. "In another place and time I would have killed her. You humanized me."

"Killing her would not have solved anything."

"No."

"I am angry with Madame." The green eyes flash.

"Then she should know – if this new life has taught me anything – grudges bear no fruit."

"You are a wise man," she says, squeezing his hands, picking up her sandwich, spooning more jam on the bread after a taste.

"Life was much simpler when I controlled the mayhem," he says, taking a bite of his own food.

"You are surely jesting," Christine chuffs.

"Um – I suppose."

"Um – exactly."

"Best we finish our meal and get some rest."

They finish their snack – Erik collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink.

"When did we stop disrobing the moment we entered the house?" She asks, standing up, straightening her skirt.

Hands on his narrow hips, pondering her question, he says, "When I discovered having a bit of food in me gave me more stamina to love you longer."

"Is that so?"

"It is." Before she is aware of what he intends, he sweeps her into his arms. "I shall win this round because I plan to disrobe you entirely before you can loosen my tie."

"Unh uh, my hands are free," she giggles, untying and removing the silken fabric, waving it in the air as he carries from the kitchen. "One."

* * *

"Much as I would like to be actively involved in this investigation with the crew – they all know I am security – I doubt anyone would trust me," Giselle tells Darius as they surveil the perimeter of the Palais.

"That is not what we had in mind," he replies.

"We? Meaning?"

"Messrs. Erik and Nadir, of course. And Inspector Marquand."

"Marquand, eh? So not part of general security?" She asks, turning to look at him. "I thought when you took me on this stroll it was to be out of hearing of personnel."

"That, too. We do not know how many are messengers or how many are participants as gamblers themselves."

"So you want me to spy on the Chagnys?"

"If that is the word you choose." Taking her arm, he resumes their walk.

"What would you call it? Phillippe and I are keeping company – you want me to betray him?"

"Not at all. No one is concerned that le Comte is any way involved in this business…"

"But Raoul is – or appears to be?"

"His cape was found covering the body of a dead man in the alley – why_ his_ garment?"

"Because he is perhaps the one fool in Paris to wear a woolen cloak on an August evening in Paris."

"A fool or an accomplice," Darius says, nodding to a couple awaiting their coach. The woman fans herself, beads of perspiration on her forehead glisten in the light of the street lamp. The man fingers the collar of his shirt.

"So you think the cloak was taken because it was hanging by itself – that someone took the risk of being seen taking it instead of just using any old piece of fabric to cover the dead man?"

"When you put it in those terms," she laughs.

"My experience with le Comte suggests he understands his brother only too well."

"You expect his acquiescence?"

"Bring it up indirectly – judge his response."

"He will know what I am about."

"Then do what you feel best." He stops, placing his hands on her shoulders, facing her down. "Just do it."

Giselle returns his stare. "You have never spoken to me so directly. What is this about, Darius?"

Darius' face hardens, he steps away from her – taking in the foot traffic on the street.

"Darius?"

"A pouch was found in the cloak containing coins from Persia."

"Your homeland."

"And M. Nadir's and where M. Erik…lived for a time."

Giselle nods – pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I see – or at least I think I do. I shall do what I can. If he guesses?"

"Tell him what I have told you."

* * *

"What is it my brother has become involved in now?" Phillippe asks, not bothering to knock, simply walking into the Phantom Security office.

"Phillippe – to what do we owe this pleasure?" Erik says, half-rising from his seat at the desk.

"You know very well why I am here." A flush rises from his neck over his cheeks to his ears.

* * *

_Giselle rested against the door to her flat. Phillippe leaned towards her for another kiss, surprised when she tilted her head away._

"_What is wrong? We are being very quiet – not disturbing anyone – although we would have infinitely more privacy were you to move into my house."_

_Giselle laughed lightly at Phillippe's plea, "I am happy here – it suits me. I doubt your brother would be happy with my presence."_

"_My brother has nothing to say about it – besides he is seldom there and when he is, he is at the opposite end of the house from where you would have your suite."_

"_Why is he not there? Monique is home most every night – he delivers her safe and sound by eleven the nights she is not performing?"_

"_I have no idea and wonder why you care so much about Raoul. It is not as if he has prevented our privacy these past months."_

_Giselle dropped her eyes._

"_What is it? This is not about our relationship."_

_Troubled dark eyes look up into his curious grey ones. "Erik and Nadir want to know if Raoul is involved in this gambling business – and, by circumstance – the murder."_

"_And you were enlisted to ply the information from me and report back to them?" His nostrils flared – curiosity replaced by a flash of anger._

"_Something like that. I had no desire to deceive you," she said, pressing a hand against his chest._

"_Erik should know better," he growled. "I shall address this in the morning." Regaining his calm, he took her chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, guiding her head back to face him. This time, her lips met his without argument._

* * *

"I can honestly say I do not," Erik argues. "We were planning to ask you to come in. Certainly, but later, once we learned more to tell _you_."

"Giselle told me you wanted information about Raoul." Phillippe narrows his gray eyes. "You could have spoken to me as easily and not involved her in surreptitious finagling."

"Le Comte, please, trust me – there would be no reason for us to use Giselle in such a way," Nadir says.

"She works for us as a detective – unfortunately, your family is being examined," Erik says. "However, I…we, would not approach you through her."

"Then who?"

Nadir closes his eyes – shaking his head. "Darius. My dearest boy," he says. "He is concerned about us – Erik and myself. Did Giselle say anything about Persia?"

"No, but then I really did not give her much opportunity. What about Persia?"

"Persian currency was found in the cloak. We believe it was used to weed out messengers who might have been keeping back more of their fee than agreed upon," Erik explains.

"I understand M. Khan is of Persian ancestry," Phillippe says. "What your connection is – other than your friendship, is something I am unaware of."

"Please, le Comte, have a seat. Tea?" Nadir says.

Erik's lips twitch slightly at Phillippe's confusion. "Perhaps a brandy for my cousin, daroga."

* * *

"_I no longer have any use for him – he has become too contrary. My sister has grown bored. What need have I for a musician who refuses to play, a magician who denies requests for tricks – a builder who has completed the tasks given?"_

"_As you wish, my Shah."_

* * *

His story completed, Nadir studies Phillippe's face. He sees the horror he desired from the tale in the lack of color and the storm rising within the nobleman.

"Having served in the Navy for our country, I have seen brutality. The Franco-Prussian fiasco left no one unscathed. I have been blessed, nonetheless – or naïve, even at my age," Phillippe says, finishing his brandy, placing the empty snifter on the coffee table. "That was war. I was either blind or unaware of the type of brutality you have described."

"We do not know, at this point, if the Shah is involved – the Persian community here in Paris have rejected his rule," Nadir says. "Most are students – elite and brilliant – their wars are of the mind and law."

"Simply put – Nadir and Darius are out of place in their company," Erik smirks. "As for me – well, my life has been one of being out of place most everywhere I go – in my case, my death is generally the desired remedy."

Nadir glares at Erik. "This is not funny."

"No, it is not," Erik says. "I am simply stating facts." He rises to pour himself a fresh cup of tea. "When we left, albeit at different times, under different circumstances, neither of us had anything but our lives to lose. Not an insignificant loss, but things have changed."

Nadir notices a slight quiver in Erik's hand as he replaces the stopper on the decanter.

"Raoul could be involved in something not only dangerous to him, but to all of us – you and Nadir in particular?" Phillippe says.

"Precisely," Nadir says. "I suspect that is why Darius extended himself in such a way with Giselle."

"We must tread softly when it comes to your brother."

"Yes, I become more and more aware of that each day."

* * *

"_Where have you been?"_

"_Walking."_

"_All night? I was not aware you took such delight in midnight strolls."_

"_I am a grown man, Phillippe, hard as that may be for you to understand."_

"_You look like hell, Raoul. You do not sleep, your clothes are beginning to hang on you," Phillippe said, grabbing the younger man by his shoulders. "I am concerned."_

"_I am fine," Raoul retorted, pulling away, walking to the kitchen. "Francois, have we any sweets – I have a need for sweets. My brother tells me I am becoming thin and wasting away."_

"_Stop it, Raoul."_

"_I am tired, Phillippe. I believe I shall go to bed."_

* * *

"It is not enough to be aware, Phillippe. He is unbalanced. Whereas he failed before, his bumbling could well bring about my demise and that of everyone here." Erik's eyes gleam, his body taking on an energy and power palpable in the small room.

Erik's passion unsettles Phillippe – it is not a part of his world. "I seldom see him. He is obsessed with Monique."

"He is here much of the time," Erik says. "At least that is what we have been told."

Phillippe nods. "He loves her, but he also feels guilty – responsible for her involvement in Robert's death."

"I understand that feeling of responsibility," Erik says.

"She saved your life," Nadir says.

"Nevertheless – not diminishing the significance of that act – she is – how to say it? Not right. All she has been through has damaged her. That is something I do understand very well. Raoul feels he must watch her every moment to protect her."

"As you watch Christine?" Nadir says quietly.

"I said that I understood his feelings about protection – when I think of the times I left her alone…" He turns his head away, briefly surveilling the cracks in the ceiling, before facing them again. "His concern for her is admirable – but the two together are unsettling."

"But Christine has not suffered what Monique has experienced…" Nadir begins to say.

Erik cuts him off. "Who are you to say what she has suffered?" he growls. "Because she does not walk around like Ophelia drifting in and out of madness?"

"…And Christine has you," Nadir completes his comment, "odd as that may sound, considering what you personally put her through."

Erik considers Nadir's comment. "I would argue with you, but you are correct – for a change."

"Thank you." Nadir rolls his eyes.

"Which is my point," Erik continues, "he, too has been dealt a number of blows to his ego – I am concerned he has become entangled in something more complex than placing bets or playing card games – with or without a Persian connection – to uplift his status."

"What would you have me do?" Phillippe asks.

* * *

"It is I, Adele." Answering Christine's question of "Who is there?" to the knock on her dressing room door.

Christine lays her knitting on the settee. After disarming the alarm and undoing the lock, she opens it. "Madame?"

"May I come in?"

With a sharp nod, Christine moves to one side, allowing Adele to pass. Shooting the lock, and re-setting the alarm, a flick of her hand indicates the older woman take a seat at the small chair next to her vanity. Returning to the chaise, she sits, folding her hands in her lap, head tilted to one side.

"We needed a ballet mistress."

A smirk crosses Christine's face, her eyes cool. They hold Adele's to the point the older woman looks away, resettling herself on the chair.

"It was a business decision."

Christine picks up the blue blanket and returns to her knitting.

"This is unfair," Adele blurts out, pounding her cane on the floor, forcing Christine to look up.

"You are not my mistress anymore, Madame Giry. You do not determine what is or is not fair, nor what actions of yours I am to accept."

"Nicole did not hurt you."

"That is the best you can come up with in response? Nicole did not hurt me? How did she not hurt me? How did she not know her mother was crazed and unsafe – knowing she was roaming freely around this building? Knowing or, at the very least, suspecting she was a murderess?" Christine says, rising from the chaise, walking to the door. "Please go now. You have your ballet mistress, with my blessing, I might add. I am busy."

Adele remains seated. Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, lips pursed, she says, "I am sorry."

"Why are you sorry? Because Nadir told you to apologize for not even warning me that you were bringing Nicole back – that you were considering re-hiring her?" Christine's eyes flare at the older woman. "Are you sorry that I am no longer the complacent child you could order about with your holy staff?" Standing over her, Christine, waves her hand at the cane. "If I was still a child when Nicole's mother tried to kill my baby and me, that child died here," she points to the floor where she stands, "here – on this very spot."

"I did not think it through."

Christine's laugh is harsh. "The mistress of understatement. I suspect you did think about it, but decided you were right and any consideration of my feelings would be forgotten."

"I _am_ sorry," Adele repeats, resting on her cane, rising to face Christine. "Forgive me." She reaches out for Christine with her free hand.

Christine pulls her arm away, turning her back. "Please go."

"No. You are like a daughter to me. I loved your father. You will not cast me out," Adele says.

Christine sighs deeply. "What do you want?"

"What do _you_ want, Christine?" Adele asks, cocking her head, willing the young woman to face her.

Christine return to the chaise, removing a handkerchief from her sleeve to brush away the tears threatening to fall. "From you?"

"I am the only one here – I have no control over others."

"You certainly act as though you do."

"So that is the issue?"

"I am a married woman, with child – the lead singer of this opera house, yet you continue to treat me as a child. You show more respect to Andre."

"I was not aware I did – with Meg, perhaps, because she is still very childlike – not you, never you."

* * *

"_Your daughter is lovely, Gustave. I do not believe I have ever seen anyone with eyes that particular shade of green."_

"_You should see them light up when she sings – the angels have truly blessed her – and me – as her father."_

"_Christine, this is Madame Giry. Her husband Jules and I became friends many years ago. He has passed, but Madame has agreed to let us share her home."_

"_Thank you, Madame," Christine mumbled from her position behind her father._

"_Come forward, girl, let me see you – if you are living here, you must come out into the open for meals at the very least."_

_Gustave laughed, using a hand to press Christine forward._

_The wild curls could not be maintained under her knit hat, but every element of her outfit, was properly sewn and fitted…and clean. Biting her full lower lip, she curtsied._

"_Christine takes excellent care of her pappa – making certain we have decent clothing and soap. She is a fanatic about soap."_

"_It take so little to be presentable," Christine whispers. "The audiences prefer the performers who look nice."_

"_Indeed," Gustave said, "I noticed our till grew once Christine took over wardrobe and presentation."_

"_She will be welcomed at the Conservatory – a good, hard worker is always appreciated. If she has talent, all the better."_

* * *

"You are one of the few people I am close to in this world. I trusted you."

"You feel I betrayed you?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"I think I do," Adele says, taking a chance in moving to the chaise, sitting down next to Christine – putting an arm around her. "What happened with Nicole? When you were alone with her."

The touch unleashes a flow of tears as Christine relives her fear during the events of the previous day. Tears she did not show Erik – for he would blame himself.

"I am so sorry you were frightened – so sorry that you had to relive that experience. It was never my intention." She says, rocking her. "I can only promise to be more aware in the future, my daughter."

"Thank you," Christine sniffs.

Adele gives her her own handkerchief.

"Erik knows of all this?"

"He heard it – from behind the mirror."

"Of course," Adele chuckles. "I should have known. You have a good husband, Christine. Never forget that."

"I doubt I will."

"His past…"

"He has told me much of it – possibly most," Christine says. "We have a real marriage, Adele. I am not a doll."

Adele raises her eyebrows. "You most certainly are not. Please be patient with me," she says, laughing, kissing Christine on the forehead. Standing, she says, "I must get back to work – with a new outlook, I think."

"Thank you for coming…and staying."

"We shall make this work out. Like yourself, you are all my family, too. I cannot afford to lose any of you."

* * *

Reynald sits straight on his stool, hands clenched in his lap as Marquand walks back and forth in front of him, his pen and pad in hand, ready to take notes.

"I dunno, M. Inspector."

"You never saw a pouch with foreign coins?"

"Not an entire pouch – one time I got a pouch with a silver coin I did not recognize."

"Silver?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"What did you do?"

"Put it back – it meant nothing to me. I need money I can spend."

"And the night you were cut?"

"Truth?"

"Nothing but," Marquand says.

"I was drunk. It was a mistake – I did not even check the bags, just grabbed some coins."

"Gregor was found with fake coins strewn around him."

"That was stupid of him to try to fool anyone."

"You do not think you were stupid."

Reynald shrugs, then fingers the cut on his nose. "I am lucky."

Marquand harrumphs. "I heard he was a supervisor?"

"I guess."

"Do you think someone tricked him?"

"Not me."

"Did you see who stole the Vicomte's cloak?"

"I do not work the front of the house – look at me. Would you trust me with your coat – such as it is?"

Marquand raises an eyebrow at the comment, causing Reynald to flush, lowering his eyes, missing the spark of humor in the eyes of the policeman.

"My guess is someone who would not look odd with an expensive black cape. I keep telling you that the Opera Ghost still exists."

"The same Opera Ghost as before – or, perhaps, a new Ghost?"

Reynald cocks his head, taking a moment to rub his stubbled chin. "I did not think of that."

"Well, think about it and try to remember instances when this new Opera Ghost seemed to be up to mischief."

"Fair enough," Reynald says. A sly smile curves his thin lips. "Let me ask you this – why do you think anyone besides the Vicomte took the cape?

Marquand mulls the question. "You have reason to believe he lied?"

"Il est fou."

Maquand quirks an eyebrow, then frowns. "Crazy?"

"He just hangs around – mooning about Mlle. Monique mostly, but he is always looking, looking, looking – asking what is this – how does that work." Leaning forward he holds a hand up to his face, glancing around to see if anyone else is listening. "He loves the traps," he whispers, "asks me how many there are, wants me to open them to see where they go beneath the stage. Why does he want to know these things?" Sitting back on his stool, he taps the side of his nose. "Fou."

"Very well, then," the Inspector says, closing his note pad, returning it to his pocket with his pen. "Thank you, Reynald – we shall speak again about your experiences with this new Opera Ghost.""

The stage manager groans.

* * *

_May I enter?_

"Of course," Christine smiles, touching her ear, turning to look at the wall mirror. The sound of the hallway door being unlocked, startles her. Rising to walk to that door, she asks, "Why this way?"

"Partly so that people will see I am with you, if anyone is bothering to watch," he says, meeting her, gathering her to him, swaying back and forth as he kisses her forehead. "Mainly to let you know that I no longer watch you without your knowing."

"You watch me when I sleep." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she stands on tip-toe to give him a kiss on his cheek, before pulling her head back to look at his face.

"You know what I mean."

"I do. Thank you."

Holding hands, they walk to the settee and sit down, Christine cuddles close to him, nuzzling his neck. "You have changed your soap – you smell like my Ivory."

"It suits me better than the Castile," he says. "I like it."

"I spoke to Adele."

"So she is Adele now? No longer Madame?"

"Yes." Her fingers toy with the buttons of his waistcoat.

Pulling her closer, he says, "And you feel better?"

"Yes." She rests her head on his chest.

"Good. I am glad."


	6. A Walk on Sunday

A Walk on Sunday

Christine ties back the sage green brocade draperies and underlying sheer white curtains covering the sitting room window of the Rue de Rivoli apartment, allowing her to open the window to watch the traffic below.

"Quite the difference is it not?" Erik says, garbed in a dark gray morning suit, his waistcoat, the same gray with pale blue pin-striping. "I rather like having the option of returning below the earth – particularly with the warm weather."

Tilting her head to look up at him, she smiles.

"Much like the myth of Hades and Persephone – you live below the ground for a period of time – above for another. I do like the fact that, unlike Hades, I can live above the ground with you, even though, like him, I must wear a mask to hide, to manage some level of invisibility.

"Does he not wear a helmet?"

"Ah, you have been reading the book of myths…" he chuckles. "Yes, but you would agree the idea is similar."

"I also have the option of moving between earth and the underground at will."

"Quite so. Which do you prefer?" Resting his hands on her shoulders.

"Both," she says, placing her hands over his. "I would have it no other way. So long as you are with me – I am content."

"Thank you, my dear." He presses a kiss on the top of her head. Her chestnut curls hang loose over a pale green dressing gown, satin ribbons criss crossed over the bodice, accentuating her full breasts, draping over her growing belly. "You are Persephone – goddess of Spring."

"In midsummer, damp with sueur, I do not feel much like a goddess…" Bending slightly over the wrought iron railing, she says, "What is this?"

Erik, moves to one side, a hand placed next to hers, following her eyes to the street. A lithe young man in a green and brown plaid suit and a dark brown bowler darts deftly through the foot traffic. "Alex?"

"I think so," Christine says. "A dancer in any event, though I cannot imagine anyone else moving with such grace and agility dressed so boldly."

"Where do you suppose he is going?"

Christine shrugs, moving away from the window. "Most anywhere. There are a number of cafes in the direction he is headed."

"One thing about living above ground is the ability to watch the world – without it looking back at you."

"No more need to walk between walls?" Christine teases, moving to the window on the other side of the fireplace to repeat the task of opening the drapes.

"That and more people to observe – I have to admit my life was becoming quite boring until you became part of it." Erik turns away from the window to observe, then follow his wife drawn irrevocably to her side, without thought.

"So I am a cure for your boredom – even with all your books and music?"

"In the best possible way – you filled an enormous void – one I had no idea as to the dimension." Once again he finds himself standing behind her, wrapped in her aura.

Turning from the window, she pulls his face toward hers to kiss him. "I do love you so."

Nuzzling her neck, he says, "Thank you for that."

Taking his hand, she leads him to the sitting area in front of the bookshelves. "How shall we spend the day – did you want to continue reading the novel by Monsieur Hugo. Is there not an opera based on the story?"

"A failure, I am not even certain there is a score – it was entitled La Esmeralda. If you think it might interest you, I could make an attempt to locate it." Taking the seat in one of the leather chairs, relaxing into the soft cushioning, crossing his long legs, tapping his fingers on the arm.

"The story is just so tragic – odd, changing the name."

"As I understand it, the focus was centered more on the romance than Quasimodo – or the cathedral itself," he says, rising. "Shall I seek it out?

"Let us finish the book and I will know better then," she says, finding _Notre Dame de Paris _and pulling it from the shelf.

"Not now." Taking the book from her hand, he returns it to the shelf. "One of my wishes has always been to walk with my wife on Sundays."

"Really?" she asks, taking his arm. "Why was that?"

"It was what I imagined normal men doing."

"What a simple and lovely wish," she says, tilting her head, narrowing her eyes to examine his face. "We have certainly walked together, but I suppose not on a Sunday. Interesting you should bring that up now, though – however sweet and enjoyable that sounds to me."

"It is a lovely day," he responds, avoiding the inquisition of her eyes.

"Perhaps up the street to see where Alex might have been going?" Her question teasing.

"Perhaps," he chuckles.

"I thought so," she says. "I will change my clothes and we shall have our Sunday walk"

* * *

The café owner, garbed in a traditional thobe, a kufi covering his head, dries his hands on a white cotton towel after wiping the water from the wooden bar top. "Monsieur Alex – it is early for you – your friends have not yet arrived."

Alex surveys the empty room behind him. "I expected business to be bustling at this hour – luncheon?"

"Most of our clientele are at prayer – perhaps in another hour we shall see some bustle."

"You?"

"I shall leave the room shortly – please, sit. How may I serve you?"

Taking a seat at a table next to the bar. "Turkish coffee. If it is not intrusive."

The older man prepares a demi-tasse, presenting it to the dancer. "Anything else?"

"Do you know of any games – today, tonight?"

"Is this not your Sabbath?"

"Perhaps once upon a time, but, no, I am a free spirit." He tosses a few coins on the table.

"You have been away – we thought perhaps not at liberty..."

Alex laughs at the inference. "Employed, actually – at the Palais Garnier."

"Congratulations – the Manager will be pleased to hear it."

"My intent for being here."

"In that case, follow me." Motioning with his hand to a young man, in the same Muslim dress as his, standing at the entrance. "Lock up and attend to your prayers – I shall return shortly."

He leads Alex through a curtain past a kitchen to a small room fitted with a round table, surrounded by four chairs, with a pair of sofas against opposing walls. "Wait here – it will not be long. Enjoy your coffee."

"Thank you," Alex says, taking a seat on one of the low couches.

With a short bow, the proprietor leaves, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"Do you find the religious differences to be a problem?" Darius ask Nadir.

The two men, dressed in almost identical olive green frock coats and black astrakhan hats, walk along the streets surrounding the Eglise Saint-Roch, pacing the map created over the months since Nadir and Adele's marriage. The habit initiated to spend the time waiting for Meg and her mother as they attend Sunday Mass at the Baroque church, walking distance from their apartment. Timing themselves to return to the front of the massive church at the same time the services were completed, and the women would be walking down the stone steps, they stop at stores on their route, examining the window displays of goods.

"Are you considering a more…permanent relationship with Meg?"

Darius shrugs, a faint flush, coloring his olive skin. "It would be the honorable thing, I think,"

Nadir chuckles and slaps the younger man on the back. "Honorable, eh?"

"We have trothed ourselves to one another. Marriage would seem the next logical step."

"So it would seem if I am to judge the newfound joy I see on the faces of both you and my step-daughter."

Darius pulls back as Nadir's allusion to his familial relationship to Meg. "I just felt that it was time for us to…"

"You are a son to me, Darius. It gives me great delight that you have found a life partner."

"But what of the religious differences? I am not certain she would understand. You and Madame are…do not seem to care about the cultural formalities."

"And you do?"

"I have some friends…Meg is not…they might not…is it not a sin?"

"There are greater sins than marrying a woman not of your faith," Nadir says, patting the pocket of his waistcoat where his late wife's ring rests next to his heart. "My life led me away from my faith, I fear – it began to die with Mitra, my beloved wife. Later, when Reza became ill and passed, it offered no succor. Strange as it may seem, Erik was my comfort during those painful times."

* * *

"_The chains are a farce, daroga – you know that, do you not?" Erik mocks him. "I thought you were cleverer than that."_

"_It presents a good façade for anyone wishing to observe and report back to the Shah as to your treatment."_

"_Chains, then, suggest you are being an excellent guard for this wretch of a being?"_

"_Yes."_

_Erik roars with laughter. "So he is a fool."_

"_All the more dangerous because it is so."_

"_He is a child."_

"_Of the same age as yourself, I suspect."_

"_No one is my age, daroga. I am infinite."_

"_You are a human being."_

"_You are the only one to think so."_

"_Be that as it may – it is the truth. You can die."_

"_I wonder. Many have tried to kill me – you can see their efforts displayed all over my body."_

"_Then Allah must have a reason for you to continue living."_

"_Your Allah is one vengeful deity – much like my mother's God. They must be having a good laugh up there in heaven where they are purported to live and rule."_

"_Do not blaspheme."_

_The jovial mood, such as it was, evaporated. Despite the weight of the chains – hackles on his wrists, ankles and neck – he thrust himself up from the floor, arms outstretched, the deformed face on fire with rage. "I blaspheme? This is the sin – this face and body are the sin. Not my sin. I did not do this. They blaspheme. They – these gods- made this."_

"_Yes, I understand you believe that."_

"_Do not patronize me. More importantly, do not lie to yourself."_

* * *

"I have only heard stories of both his brilliance and cruelty – it never made sense to me that you could be friends."

"Your disdain was quite obvious these past years – until the wedding…"

"He seemed less inclined to destroy everyone and everything around him – particularly you."

Nadir laughs, patting the younger man on his back. "You would have been especially disturbed had you seen him when he was under the physical control of the Shah – and known it was I who was responsible for his entrapment."

"Your choice of words strikes me – you were responsible?"

"I was sent to find him and bring him back to Persia."

"But, the other – the physical control of the Shah, as you put it – was not of your doing."

"True enough - you know yourself how little control anyone exerts over him – with the exception of Christine and even she realizes her limits. The wild Przewalski* is still there beneath the gentle saddle horse. Still, it was I who dangled the carrot.

"Your question was about my religious differences with Adele – her faith gives her comfort. So long as that is the case, I have no issue. So long as I do not make an issue, she is content," he says. "It works."

"I have much to consider," Darius says.

"Concern yourself more with loving her, than why you should not love her due to some rules set by others long, long ago."

* * *

"Garcon!" Raoul calls out. "Another café au lait, sil vous plait pour Mademoiselle et moi." Tilting his head at Monique seated across the small table from him, he clears his throat in an attempt to garner her attention. "Monique?"

Slowly, she turns her head to him, the glimmer of a smile on her thin lips fails to reach her eyes. Eyes that never seemed to light anymore when with him. Forget him – even her dancing no longer livens the pale blue irises. Perhaps her brother. She did brighten when Alex was present. Even then, so many of the memories they shared were harsh and unhappy. Had she ever known joy?

"Yes, my love?" Her voice silky as always – cooperative and considerate. Reaching across the small table for his hand, she squeezes it – not tightly, just enough…

"Would you like something special to eat besides a croissant? An omelet or quiche perhaps?"

"Yes, omelet – a salad, too."

"You are hungry?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Quite frankly, yes, it is – I have been concerned lately about you…your appetite."

"Well, today I am starved and could eat all those wonderful things you have suggested and more – a chocolate croissant, perhaps."

Raoul's smile brightens – happy to have suggested the outing, breakfast followed by a walk in the Bois de Bologne – getting away from that damnable Opera House. "Have you thought any more about returning to my house – I feel that Meg and Darius would like to have the flat to themselves. It has little effect on me, but you must be uncomfortable."

Not meeting his eyes, she instead fiddles with the ruffle on the collar of her pale yellow silk frock, accentuating the copper color of her short curls – his gift in honor of her new role in the review at the Garnier. "I have actually been thinking that myself, but I am not sure your home with Phillippe would suit me."

"We could have our own wing – the house is certainly large enough," Raoul insists. "I seldom see Phillippe."

The waiter brings their coffee and takes the order for their breakfast.

Raoul looks at Monique expectantly. "It would be perfect."

Sipping her coffee, focusing on the foot traffic passing by, Monique says, "Alex and I have decided to take a flat together. He found a place close to the Opera House that is not terribly expensive."

Taken aback, he shakes his head as he sits back in his chair, spreading his legs, unbuttoning his brown tweed jacket. "Where has he been living?"

"Different places – with friends he has made. With his new role – and my solo work, we can share some place of our own."

"When were you planning to tell me?"

"I am telling you now." She says, turning to face him, her cheeks flushed, a spark of fire in her eyes and her voice. "We have never had a place of our own, Raoul," she continues. "You would not know about that."

Raoul recoils at her comment. "No, I suppose not. Am I supposed to be ashamed of the nature of my birth?"

"No, of course not – despite being a barony, my family did not have your wealth – but, we had the title and that opened doors," she says. "I am sorry. I did not intend to spring the news on you this way." She adjusts her chair, to sit closer to him, reaching for his hand again.

Forcing his mouth into the semblance of a smile, his own blue eyes hard, he says, "I am concerned about you – all that you have been through."

Monique brightens at the sight of the waiter's return with their food. Closing her eyes, she breathes in the scent of the onion, garlic and roasted vegetables wafting from the fluffy omelet. "Oh, Raoul, this is perfect," she says, diving into the eggs with her fork.

Raoul watches her devour the food as if starved. Buttering his croissant, he takes a small bite, putting the pastry down almost immediately.

"Is there something wrong, Monsieur?" the waiter asks, his dark eyebrows pressed into a frown disturbing the perfection of his chisled cheekbones.

Waving his hand, Raoul says, "No – all is well. Thank you."

"Very good." The young man turns and leaves Raoul to continue watching Monique clear her plate.

"When we are finished, do you still wish to take a stroll – or would riding in a cabriolet be more to your liking?"

Monique considers a moment, dabbing her lips with her napkin, returning it to her lap. "The carriage, I think," she says. "More comfortable for kissing," she giggles.

His brow furrows, but pleased at her positive mood, the hard line of his mouth softens. "I should enjoy more kissing."

"And later – perhaps a visit to your house."

Eyebrows rise as he risks a chortle. "I should enjoy that as well."

"Bien."

* * *

"Maman, could we sit in one of the small chapels instead of attending the service?" Meg asks, waving to Darius and Nadir as they take their regular stroll while Meg and Adele attend Sunday Mass at the baroque period church

Adele, gowned in her new favorite dove gray morning dress, takes her daughter's elbow, turning her to see her face. "May I ask why? This is our tradition – I miss Christine's presence – but Mass together has been our special time since you were a little girl."

"Exactly, we seldom see one another anymore, privately. I just wish to be with you – talk to you."

Adele cups the girl's chin in her hand. "I was not aware – I am sorry. I seem to be saying that quite a bit lately."

"Why?"

The older woman, wraps her arm around her daughter's waist – careful to avoid the pink roses Meg added to embellish the apron of her gown that match those on her straw bonnet. "Let us say, I have been too busy to take notice of the needs of others."

"Christine is angry about Nicole. I was concerned she might be," Meg says, wrapping her own arm around Adele's waist. They walk in quiet for a while, two slim women – one needing a cane to assist her walking, the other still young, but likely to suffer the same fate at some future time the result of their shared passion. Finding a nook absent of other parishioners, they sit on a wooden bench, illuminated by sunlight passing through the stained glass window and candles in the devotional stand in front of a small altar.

"Well?"

"Yes, she was upset – it has been discussed and resolved – at least discussed." Adele sighs. "But that is not why we are taking this break from our weekly duty, is it?"

"No – except I am not angry at all about Nicole, but understand why Christine is," Meg says. "Does that make sense?"

"It makes quite a lot of sense," Adele says, smiling at her daughter's face – no longer that of a little girl with cherub cheeks and impossible gold hair – her father's hair and eyes like sapphires. Had he been the mother and she the father, no one would have taken Meg for her flesh and blood. Her face had slimmed down to reveal fine bone structure – like her own, but with full lips and a gentleness in those blue eyes she herself lacked in her own near-black ones. A whim of Mother Nature.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Darius…me…marriage."

"Indeed – you have discussed this with him?"

"We are together – I think he is still concerned about his physical…issues."

"You understand what was done to him?"

"I have seen him, Maman," Meg says, not looking at her. "I have been with him."

"Indeed?"

* * *

"_Are you certain that this will be satisfying to you?" Darius asked, kissing Meg's full pink lips, removing his trousers and drawers before sitting on the edge of the bed, strapping the penis extension around his waist._

_Meg, already naked, having tossed her rehearsal costume across the end of the bed when they first entered the bedroom. Freed of the presence of roommate and her beau – her excitement to see Darius' specially made secret gift, found her excitement almost unbearable. Not bothering to wait for him to disrobe her as was their usual routine, she slipped out of her chemise and undergarments to throw herself on the bed. "Let us find out – hurry up."_

_Keeping his back to her, he removes his shirt, folding it, along with his other clothes, placing them on the vanity bench. "I must collect myself. This is very strange. I feel somewhat foolish."_

"_That is quite impossible." Head resting on an arm, watching Darius – her golden hair spread over the pillow and her breasts. "As for satisfying, you, my love, have always been satisfying. Your sweet purchase only makes me more certain we are a blessed couple. This is so exciting."_

_Finally turning to face her, his lean strong body – maintained despite the inclination of eunuch flesh to turn flabby – tense, apprehensive about her reaction. _

_Her breath caught in her throat – her lower parts stir with a rush of blood, willing her to salve the pleasurable discomfort in whatever way possible. "It is beautiful – come, let me touch it." _

_Moving closer to the bed, he is once again the sentry, awaiting the pleasure of the lady – his lady, admiring the toy he designed for her enjoyment. He allowed himself a smile as she stroked the phallus, coincidentally touching his own member, functional, but not what he wished for her. What he knows other men possess._

"_It is warm – it looks like it would be cold, but it is not."_

"_It may hurt a bit at first – or so I understand – the length. I shall be careful of you," he said, gazing at her face as he climbed onto the bed next to her. His wide hands, caress her breasts, his thumb brushing against first one nipple then the other, waiting for her gentle sigh, then intake of breath, before ghosting the length of her torso. Stopping at her mons, already moist with longing and welcome, he ask, "What would you like from me?"_

"_Maybe we should begin with your fingers." Pressing down on his hand, directing his strokes – small moans and gasps escaped her mouth with his increased the pressure – taking control, inserting his fingers into her, manipulating her labia and the pearl of her sex with his knuckles and fingertips._

"_Like this?"_

"_Yes. More. I want to feel it…you inside me."_

_Straddling her, lifting her narrow hips, Darius inserted the tip of the device into the wet secret passage of her sex. Building the intensity slowly, finding his rhythm guiding the dildo. "Like this?"_

"_Yes," she replied. "You are so deep. Ahhhh." Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulls herself closer to him, grabbing his backs, digging her nails into his flesh. _

"_Is this good for you, my shahban*? Is your desire satisfied?"_

* * *

"Just now I was looking at your lovely face and instead of my baby girl, I saw a woman," Adele says. "Perhaps the influence of your young man."

"I do love him, Maman. He is good and kind and he takes care of me."

"What of children? Do you not want a child?"

"After what we came to know these past months, I suspect that we could adopt a child quite easily."

"So, it sounds as though it has been settled."

"I wanted your blessing."

"And you have it. I suspect Darius is having a similar discussion with Nadir?"

Meg nods and grins. "He is concerned about religion."

"You cannot marry in the church, you know."

"I can still attend Mass – as you do."

"But no sacraments."

"You are doing that."

"Yes, it is a sacrifice I was willing to make," Adele says, stroking Meg's hair, tucking a few strands behind her ear. "Pray about it."

The bells ring announcing the presentation of the host. "Communion," Adele says. "You can still receive – let us join the congregation and offer our prayers. Come."

When they stand, Meg hugs her mother closely. "I love you."

"And, I you."

* * *

Christine twirls her parasol, off-white with a spray of purple flowers imprinted on the silk fabric, complementing her walking dress of deep lilac cotton, trimmed with lavender satin at the hem and bodice, her other hand tucked in the crook of Erik's arm.

Erik pulls the brim of his new gray wool gambler's hat over his mask. Although still conscious of the occasional odd looks he receives, his ventures out into the Parisian streets during the daylight hours are more common and, as Christine told him repeatedly, many men walked these same streets with faces damaged during the Franco-Prussian war.

"Are you comfortable?" He asks her. "We have walked for some distance, I can secure a carriage."

"Possibly for the return home, but my sense is you have not found what you have been seeking in our Sunday walk."

"My dear, you are most prescient," he says, smiling down at her.

"I simply know you, husband, I doubt you would ever be entirely comfortable living the life of a so-called _normal_ man – nor would I want you to be."

Erik throws back his head and laughs, before abruptly cutting it short, halting his steps.

Following his lead, she stops as well. "What is it?"

"I believe we have reached our destination – at least, the location I was seeking."

"The café ahead with the men in white robes and caps standing outside?"

Erik nods, taking her hand, directing their walk to the opposite side of the street, moving away from the coffee house.

"What's wrong – why are we crossing the street?"

"I believe I saw some green plaid as a part of the group," he says, picking up his pace.

"Why would you not want Alex to see us…if it is Alex?" She asks.

"The coins were Persian. There were five cards found in Raoul's cloak – all the Ace of Spades, which I thought strange. Then I recalled a Persian card game called As Nas."

"I still do not understand," Christine says, scurrying in an attempt to keep up with his long strides.

Noticing her distress, he slows – returning to a more leisurely pace, compliant with the other strolling couples – blending in, avoiding undue attention.

"As Nas is usually played with specially designed decks of cards – five of each Aces, Kings, Ladies, soldiers and some minor characters such as dancing girls. As a substitute, five identical decks of everyday playing cards can be substituted using the Aces of Spades, Kings of Clubs, etc.," he tells her. "The cloak had the Aces."

"So what does that have to do with that café and Alex?" she asks, tugging on his arm, stopping him to catch her breath.

"Are you all right – do you wish for me to hail a carriage?"

She nods, catching her breath.

"I'm sorry." Erik pats her hand, leading her to a doorway, then walks to the curb. A hansom cab approaches – the couple within– a blond-haired man and a girl with copper curls engaged in an embrace – are oblivious to anyone who might be observing them. In spite of himself, Erik smiles and waves down the next cab, conveniently empty and available.

"You did not answer my question," Christine says as she makes herself comfortable in the cab while Erik gives the driver instructions.

"Look," he says, nodding toward the café as they pass. As suspected, Alex stands in the midst of the group of men – engaged in a friendly, if heated exchange.

"What does it mean?"

"I do not know at the moment. I just find it fascinating, and would prefer Monsieur le Baron not know _we_ are aware of how_ he _spends his Sunday afternoons."

* * *

*Przewalski's horse also called the Mongolian wild horse or Dzungarian horse, is a rare and endangered horse native to the steppes of central Asia.

**queen

Regarding Muslim values, rural tribes in Iran permit the men to drink alcoholic beverages. In their leisure time some tribal khans also enjoy smoking opium. As Nas is a popular card game among tribal people.


	7. Games of Chance

Games of Chance

"Merde!" Erik moves from one section of the floor to ceiling bookcase, withdrawing an occasional tome, before shoving it back into place, without even examining the pages. "Who organized these books?"

Upon returning from their outing, he removed his hat, jacket and mask – taking only the time to put them in the armoire in the foyer before his assault on the bookcase, both physical and verbal. For the most part, Christine has no idea what he was saying – likely takes on merde in the assorted languages of his repertoire – knowing only his frustration was growing as he was unable to find what he sought among the hundreds of books.

Since he organized the books, she remains silent on the topic. Leaving him to his search, she deposits her parasol and reticule on the small table next to the armoire, then retires to their bedroom to remove her day dress in exchange for a softer, cooler dressing gown. Thankful that, although his urgency to return home from their Sunday walk was obvious throughout their dejeuner, he restrained himself and actually partook of a meal.

* * *

"_It is rather nice to have our luncheon outside, being served – not having to be concerned about cooking or cleaning up afterwards."_

"_Yes, my dear," he said, thrumming his fingers on the small round table in a corner of the outside patio, where he could observe the activity on the street – without much attention being paid to him. The café was less than 300 meters from where Erik hailed their cab to where he asked to be dropped off._

_Accepting his comment that this café was excellent – although how he would know was a question she chose not to ask. The ambiance was pleasant, the tables somewhat larger than usual with a small wrought iron barrier separating the eating area from the foot traffic. They were seated immediately and the food served efficiently without mishap._

"_The duck confite is quite wonderful – I do not recall ever having such a divine dish."_

"_Yes, my dear."_

"_I do not believe I have ever been served a whole raw potato before – with a sauce of mustard and mushrooms."_

"_Yes, my dear. It is all quite wonderful," he said, absently, staring down the street toward the café where Alex was conversing with a heavy-set man in white._

"_I think I should like an entire St. Honore cake for dessert."_

"_Whatever you wish, my dear."_

_Pounding her fist on the table, rattling the water glasses and silver, she said, "Erik, where is your mind?"_

"_What?" His focus redirected to his wife, whose face was flush with anger, her mouth pursed and eyes burning into his now that he was paying attention to her again. "What? You are enjoying your food, I heard you say so."_

"_What did I say?"_

"_Um."_

"_Exactly. Um."_

"_I am sorry. I fear my curiosity has been piqued by our young friend, Alex, and what on earth he is doing at _that _café with_ that _man."_

"_Is it so odd?"_

"_In a word – yes."_

"_You are friends with Nadir."_

"_That is different – and not the issue."_

"_Then what is the issue?"_

_With one last look down the street, he turns his attention fully to her, leaning forward in his seat. "When I was so rudely ignoring you – for which I am deeply sorry and cannot understand how it might have happened…"_

_Rolling her eyes, she waved her hand, encouraging him to continue._

"_There appeared to be some sort of exchange – possibly money – on the street, at midday between a Muslim man and someone he would likely consider an outsider…and they were laughing," he said. "I wish I could get closer – to see his face, which seems vaguely familiar, but I cannot be certain."_

"_I see – well, I do not see, but understand that you are disturbed by it, so I shall hold my opinion," she said. "Perhaps, Nadir can explain."_

"_He will likely be as confused as I, but I will certainly discuss this with him," Erik said, taking a sip from his glass of wine. "Do you really want an entire St. Honore cake after the lovely eclairs? I suppose it would be tasty after the raw potato with mustard and mushrooms, however, I must agree that the duck confite was excellent." _

_A delighted laugh escaped her mouth, dropped open in surprise. Tossing her napkin at him, she said, "So you were listening. You will never cease to amaze me."_

"_I certainly hope not" was his response as he rose from his seat to help her to her feet. Signaling the waiter that he was leaving payment on the table, he took her elbow, guiding her back to the street hailing another cab to take them home._

* * *

Returning to the sitting room, Christine watches him, arms akimbo, mildly amused at his search – for what she has no idea – although somewhat concerned because he appears to be on the verge of apoplexy. His face florid – she cannot recall seeing him so flushed – the damaged side the color of blood. Perspiration forms rivulets down his cheeks, and his once pristine shirt is marred by perspiration marks.

"The damned box was among the religious texts. I am certain of it."

"What box – why would a box be among books?" She asks.

"To disguise it, so no one could find it." Moving the ladder, he tackles another section.

"Who exactly do you think would have been looking for something in your bookcase, Erik? You lived as a hermit."

"Not there – here. I hid it here – on these shelves somewhere." Abandoning the search, he climbs down.

"Hid the box from whom? Me?"

"No. Not you – everything I own or ever will own is yours – outsiders, visitors. We have visitors now."

"And you think one of our friends is going to take one of your books that is actually a box?"

Sighing deeply, defeated, he turns to look at her. "I suppose not." He flops down in one of the pale green armchairs, flanking the hand-carved rosewood game/chess table.

"This box – what does it look like?"

"A very large black book."

Christine walks over to the coffee table in front of the sage green damask settee and picks up a large black box – replicating the look of an aged leather bound Bible – and carries it over to him. "This?"

"What was it doing there?"

"You set it there – I just assumed it was a decorative piece. It was locked, but felt you would show me whatever it was inside when you were of a mind to do so."

"And I thought it was the Bible."

Christine snickers at his chagrin.

Soon, he joins her. "No more moving house. It is enough we have two abodes."

"For someone whose life has been scattered all over Europe and the Asias, you do like order."

"I am an architect – symmetry is important to me. That skill enabled me to acquire some of the objects in this box."

If you are speaking of Persia and the Shah – it also almost cost you your life."

"A minor point, my dear," he chuckles, retaining his good humor.

"So what is so important in the locked box you nearly made yourself ill?"

"Not locked, just secured." Showing her how to unlatch the golden clasp, he opens the casket, retrieving another smaller container, from which he removes a deck of playing cards. "As Nas traditional cards." Putting the larger box on the floor, he says, "Sit down, let me show you." Moving the chess pieces aside, he shows her the cards. "Leopards representing the As or Ace. The Shah, Bibi, Serbaz and Couli."

"They are beautifully drawn – works of art in themselves, but no change of suit."

"There are many designs – some erotic – this deck is very traditional," he says. "The idea is to have the best hand – a trio and a pair, three of a kind, or just a pair – Ace the highest."

"But if gambling is against the Muslim beliefs?"

"Playing cards for pleasure is not sinful, it is the betting that is considered to be against the teaching of the Quran. The idea being that man should earn his money and not be dependent on the winds of chance. It is also believed that gambling and drinking – most vices – are disruptive to the family. However, an activity being sinful does not necessarily mean a person is not going to partake. In fact, I would suspect there is more sinning than some would like to admit – no matter the religious persuasion."

"Perhaps when you tell all of this to Nadir, more sense can be made."

A frown crosses his brow. _Persia again. _His eyes shift back to the carved ebony box, an artifact purchased in Italy, after his escape, when he finally felt safe enough to settle. The resemblance to a book appealed to his desire for misdirection. Each item had a story, related to a chapter of his life – so completely appropriate for the treasures he was able to retain once imprisoned by the Shah – as well as the jewels selectively procured from the Palace. Over the years, new items were added, a modest collection of mementos, by many standards. _Would that life never be entirely behind him?_

"No more of this today." Erik stands, offering her his hand. "Come let us read our book." After taking the Hugo volume from the shelf, they walk to the settee.

"What of Alex?"

"A man who had to live by his wits. Charming and gifted – but there is a darkness behind his eyes. Cast out from his family – having to disguise himself."

"You are saying he wears a mask?"

"Yes, of sorts. Like recognizes like, my dear."

Despite the heat, Christine shivers, snuggling closer. "I liked him."

"Continue to do so – there is no reason not to."

"But you are wary of him."

"I am wary of everyone, Christine. Have you not noticed?" With that he opens the book to the page marked with a satin ribbon.

"_Unable to rid myself of it, since I heard your song humming ever in my head, beheld your feet dancing always on my breviary, felt even at night, in my dreams, your form in contact with my own, I desired to see you again, to touch you, to know who you were, to see whether I should really find you like the ideal image which I had retained of you, to shatter my dream, perchance, with reality. At all events, I hoped that a new impression would efface the first, and the first had become insupportable. I sought you. I saw you once more. Calamity! When I had seen you twice, I wanted to see you a thousand times, I wanted to see you always." *_

* * *

Before allowing the door to be closed behind her, Adele turns to her husband, taking his face – having lost the firm skin of youth, comfortably handsome with graying hair at his temples, eyes lined with wrinkles born of both laughter and the sun of his homeland – into her slim hands. Hands as graceful as the rest of her body – speaking the language of dance as much as her now ruined feet had done for so many years. Pressing her lips to his, she says, "I am so happy to be loved by you."

Wrapping an arm around her, he uses the other to close heavy wooden door to their flat on the Rue de Rivoli, shouting distance, if one was so inclined from Erik and Christine's apartment. The woman he holds in his arms never fails to surprise and enchant him.

* * *

_The backstage area was dark – Nadir was certain the directions given him by the managers were purposely confusing. Despite his deference to their position here at the Palais Garnier, he supposed a certain bigotry might exist. His patronage was certainly welcomed – their eyes were always eager when he appeared to make a contribution towards productions of which he was particularly fond. And yet, the guardedness was always there – their inability to speak to him without caution. In some respects it was amusing, watching them stumble over themselves to call him the honorable Monsieur Khan, despite his assurances that he had no title, was simply a retired sheriff from Persia who enjoyed opera and, most especially, the ballet._

_It occurred to him that it might be his hat – the astrakhan hat did arouse looks, no matter that there was a sizable middle-eastern community in Paris – if anything, his general attire was closer to theirs than that of his Muslim brothers. Being an honest man, however, he also admitted his own lack of understanding for many of the habits and behaviors in his host country found him both amused and confused at times._

_In any event, cultural differences aside, he was confoundedly lost._

"_May I ask what you are doing here?" The woman's voice, sounded from the shadows behind a scrim, was stern, but, nevertheless, had a pleasant lilt to it. The French language had that ability – often turning harsh words into those that seemed to be of love instead of mere banalities. _

"_Madame? May I see you – I feel as though a ghost is speaking to me, as I can only hear your voice."_

"_Does this suit you?" she asked, stepping from the shadows, the glimmer of a smile resting on her lips, the barest twinkle lighting her eyes. _

_He understood why she was almost invisible to him, even now in the dim rehearsal light. Dressed all in black, with hair reminiscent of a raven's wings, eyes the color of coal, she became one with her environment. Her porcelain skin, though, was flawless – a few lines defying any illusion of youth. Her lips, though thin, were sensual in her wariness. What a presence. What beauty._

"_I was told by the managers that I might find the ballet mistress if I came this way. Would that be you?"_

"_It would – Adele Giry, and you are?"_

"_Nadir Khan."_

"_You wished to see me?"_

"_To compliment your work – the most pleasurable moments for me when I attend performances is the ballet."_

"_That does not surprise me," she harrumphs. "Most men adore the ballet – the girls in their brief costumes are most titillating." Placing the cane, he only just noticed, in front of her – taking a stand against him, setting up her barriers. "You are interested in one of the girls?"_

"_Oh, no, Madame – not at all – not in that way," he said, facing growing hot – wondering now if his insistence at this visit would make him seem a roue. "Excuse me. Perhaps I should go."_

"_Wait," she said, lifting one fine hand from the cane, reaching out for him to stop. "So often, that is all men want from the ballet rats...girls."_

"_No, Madame, I simply wished to give you my words of appreciation."_

"_Then, I shall thank you for them. Will you be in attendance this evening?"_

"_Yes, I believe so."_

"_Perhaps, I will see you then. For now, I must return to rehearsal. Au revoir."_

"_Au revoir."_

* * *

Breathless, Adele breaks away from the kiss – her face flushed – she dips her head. "I have no idea what prompted that behavior," she says.

"Please try to recall, because I should enjoy that behavior, as you call it, on a regular basis," Nadir says, drawing her close for another kiss. Taking his time to first nibble on her ear lobe, breathing softly, "You are adorable when you are embarrassed."

She giggles in response, lifting her chin to allow him access to her swan-like neck. "You flatter me."

"All worthy compliments – pity they were denied you for so long."

Talk is suspended – their kiss is embraces fully, until both need to catch their breath, burying their respective heads on the shoulder of the other.

"The foyer is not the ideal venue for passionate embraces, I fear," Nadir laughs. "Nor is being garbed for church or taking walks. Shall we take our desires to a more hospitable part of the house?"

Adele removes her bonnet, hanging it on a peg along with her purse. Nadir adding his own outerwear to hers, his head tilts awaiting her response.

"It is Sunday," she replies, smoothing her dress.

"You really are embarrassed? After all this time?" Nadir says, taking her hand, leading her to the sitting room. "We are married – what is this business about 'it is Sunday'?"

"Meg wants to marry Darius," she says, continuing through the comfortable living area to the kitchen.

Nadir's apartment is considerably smaller than Erik's, taking a flat on the third floor – one of two. His taste strays from her preferences of green and pink towards the rich reds, blues and golds that define Erik's basement home. Her influence only taking precedence in their bedroom for the time being. Still she loves the lush, almost indolent heavy cushioned pieces, chosen more for comfort than appearance. A large circular copper table dominates the room.

"Tea?"

"Coffee, if you do not mind," he says, flopping down on one of the red sofas sitting on either side of the fireplace. "Meg wants to marry Darius. Darius wants to marry Meg. It seems a most agreeable situation to me. Is this the significance behind your issues with the day of the week being appropriate for making love?"

"In a manner of speaking," she says, placing a plate of meringues and date-walnut cookies on the table. "She did not seem to mind missing Mass."

"But you do miss something – about your Mass?"

"I feel as though I should, although I am not sure that I do."

"Do you regret our marriage?" The calm in his voice belies the rush of adrenalin he feels, roiling his stomach.

Looking him full in the face, she shakes her head. "No, not then, not now, not ever."

Relief replaces his fear, throwing him off balance. "Oh. Then what?"

"I still want my connection to my faith – and want that for Meg."

"Is that not for her to decide?"

The smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen is strong enough to propel Nadir to the kitchen, waving Adele to stay seated.

"In time?" she calls out.

"Barely – this new percolator still has me confused, but the coffee is so much better when we use it." He returns to the sitting room with the painted tin coffee pot he saw in the window of one of the shops he and Darius pass on their Sunday walks, along with two of Adele's prized porcelain cups and saucers, a matching sugar dish and creamer.

"What of Darius?"

Nadir tells her of their conversation and Darius concerns about his religious issues, but mainly about his personal concerns.

Adele laughs when she hears that. "I have always felt a sense of pity for the man Meg would fall in love with."

"Your own daughter?"

"She has quite taken control – while not exactly putting me in my place, she was very assured."

"Growing up before your eyes?"

"Both of them, it would seem. Christine and, now, Meg having become women without my even being aware of it."

"Christine?"

"When, at your suggestion, I apologized for not alerting her to Nicole's employment, she gave me what for about taking her maturity for granted and, by extension her marriage."

"Is that so?"

"Then, the daughter of my flesh, tells me that she is quite fine with her suitor's physical issues and that they are handling things quite well – thank you very much."

Nadir wraps an arm around her, giving her a generous hug, before grabbing a cookie and taking a sip of his coffee. Grimacing, he adds several sugar cubes and a sizeable amount of cream to his cup.

"That bad?"

"Not so bad if treated with the proper accompaniments," he says. "So, you are saying that they have consummated their relationship?"

"It would seem so."

Nadir beams. "Your daughters have become women and my son – for he is like a son to me…" His eyes glistening, "…has become a man – at least in a way neither of us ever expected. Darius is more a man than some others I know."

"So they have our blessing?"

"Of course – as if we actually have anything to say about it."

"They need the papers signed."

"There is that." Taking another sip of his coffee, he puts the cup down, pushing it away. Leaning against the back of the sofa, he returns his arm to Adele's shoulder. "It seems to me that we were engaged in a much more pleasurable type of communication upon returning home. Do you suppose we could address that now – the business of the children settled?"

Lifting her face up to his to be kissed, she murmurs, "I would like nothing more."

* * *

"Do you wish to walk home or do you prefer a carriage?" Darius asks Meg, after saying their good-byes to Nadir and Adele at their building.

"You are the one who has spent the day walking, are you tired?"

Darius smiles. "I spent days on my feet standing in one place, my Meg, walking is a joyous pleasure for me."

Running both her arms through his, she presses up against him as they walk. "Was it truly awful?"

* * *

"_Stand up straight." _

_Flinching at the crack of the whip, he forced his exhausted limbs to obey. Relieved that it was only the sound, not the sting of the leather scourge assailing him._

"_How many years are you?"_

"_Twelve, perhaps thirteen."_

"_Old for a eunuch – what was your life before?"_

"_Shepherd."_

"_How did you come to be here?"_

"_My father died – there was no money."_

"_Sold?"_

_The thin young man, stood tall, facing forward, only the quiver of his full lower lip suggesting upset, offered a curt nod._

"_Keep your spine straight and your eyes alert – do not focus on the women. You are a sentry. Report anything out of the ordinary to me. Do these things and you will be fine."_

* * *

"There are worse things," he answers, squeezing her hands. "This is a good day, I think."

"Can we celebrate?"

"Would you like some sweets – we skipped them at luncheon?"

"With some champagne?"

Looking down at her, seeing her blue eyes imploring him, he says, "That is not something I would have considered, but if you like."

"There is a café up ahead."

"That café is unlikely to serve champagne or any other alcoholic beverages."

"You know it?"

"It is a place I have frequented – the owner is Persian."

"I would not be welcome?"

"No."

"I think our faith issues will be more difficult for you than for me?"

"Nadir and I spoke of these things. He said that my love for you was the most important thing to consider."

"We passed another café – across the street – perhaps..."

Stopping abruptly, Darius turns, removing his hat, causing Meg to stumble. Taking her by the waist, he helps her regain her balance and begins to retrace their steps.

"Let us find a café closer to your home for our dessert – that way if you become a little tipsy, we would not have to walk that far."

"What is wrong, why did you turn so quickly – why did you remove your hat?" Looking behind her, forcing Darius to almost drag her forward, she stops, hands on hips. "Tell me right now what is wrong or I shall walk back to that café by myself."

"Continue with me and I will explain."

Conceding, she once again takes his arm. "Go ahead."

"I do not wish Alex to see us."

"Alex?" Turning her head slightly.

"Alex is speaking with my former master – his name is Harim."

"What is he doing here?" She increases her pace to keep up with him.

"I do not know, but I must tell M. Erik and M. Khan," he says. "Please do not look back, Meg. Just keep walking."

* * *

Erik and Christine take a break from their absorption with the story of Esmeralda, Archdeacon Frollo and Quasimodo. "When I read this, I feel as if I am some strange combination of the priest and the hunchback."

"I am curious to know which elements you believe to be yours," Christine says. "Let us eliminate the physical issues."

"But those are significant – they create the desire to be loved for oneself, not for one's appearance," he argues. "However, leaving that aside – my obsession with you nearly led to my death and the death of others."

"Nearly."

"You think I am more like Quasimodo – not because of his deformity, but his feelings for Esmeralda. You do not think he is obsessed with her."

"No, I think he loves her – his love is pure. She was compassionate to him. You are not at all like the priest," she says, closing the book and laying in on the table. Tucking her feet under her, she leans against him, toying with the buttons of his shirt. "He was a victim of nature – as you were. Frollo was a man who, as a priest, chose to deny his flesh, so when he met Esmeralda he became crazed with lust."

Erik is silent, so much so that Christine stops her analysis and looks up to find him staring at her.

"Why are you looking at me that way?"

"I was crazed with lust, Christine."

"For my voice, perhaps – would that be considered lust? I never feared you would assault me – hurt me physically."

"Obsession, certainly. I cannot deny I hoped…" His ears turn crimson, words, for once, elude him.

"Erik, as I recall – and I have a fine memory – I seduced you."

"You had a nightmare and I took advantage of you."

"My recollection is quite clear. Stop being dramatic. You do get caught up in your negative fantasies about your _evil nature _from time to time." Taking his chin, she turns his face to hers and kisses him. "Be as lusty as you like, I shall not turn you away."

"You are my treasure," he says, bringing her closer.

Both jump at the bell sounding at the same time as heavy knocking assaults their front door. He leaps to his feet to investigate, opening the small aperture, finding Nadir, Adele, Darius and Meg, all with varied looks of concern on their faces.

"Who died?" he says, allowing them entrance.

"Not funny," Nadir says, pushing past him – the rest of the entourage following.

Taking the time to lock the door and set the alarms, he finds them fidgeting and pacing – Christine watching the exercise with her green eyes wide.

"Sit down – all of you," he growls, returning to his place next to Christine. "Whatever this is, you do not have to unnerve us or yourselves any more than has been done already."

"You are right," Nadir says. "Adele – children, sit. Darius, tell Erik what, or rather _who_ you saw today."

"Harim – my former master speaking with Baron Alex outside a coffee house."

"You thought you recognized someone," Christine says, tugging on Erik's sleeve.

"You saw Alex at this café?" Nadir asks, standing behind Adele, who has taken a seat in one of the green velvet chairs. "Where were you?"

"Down the street – we were looking for Alex. Christine saw him from the window and I was curious, so we took a walk. When we saw him conversing, we retreated and went to another café for our lunch."

Darius, his composure shaken, wrings his hands. "He was heavier and older, of course, but I should never forget his eyes – even at a distance."

"This is what you were concerned about…" Christine says.

Erik nods, placing an arm around her shoulders. His eyes find Nadir's, then shift to the chess table and the As Nas cards.

Following Erik's direction, Nadir picks up the deck, rubbing his thumb over the golden edges. "Harim was removed from the Palace on my recommendation…"

"Based on what I told you. He would suspect me…" Darius interjects.

"…he was involved with one of the Shah's wives," Nadir continues. "If anything, he should be grateful he is still alive. Erik was long gone by then."

"Why did he look familiar to me then?"

"We all look alike?" Nadir speculates – sniggering.

"Thank you for the humor, but I felt I knew him."

Holding up one of the minor coulis – symbolic of a servant. "He grew up in the palace, just as Darius – you may have known him as a boy."

Erik frowns, then nods. "Simple games of cards after days of playing the unsavory games of the royal family."

Christine grabs his hand, digging her fingers into his palm.

"So he may have come to Paris to escape the Shah, too," Adele says.

Nadir shrugs.

"Are we all in danger?" Meg asks, holding onto Darius' arm.

Each of the couples finds some physical comfort in their partner – quietly pondering what the presence of a former elite palace guard in Paris means to them – and what his relationship is to the newest dancer at the Palais Garnier.

"Let us not get in front of ourselves. Knowledge is power," Erik says. "We know who – now we must learn the why." Squeezing Christine's hand, he stands up. "Tea, anyone?"

* * *

*THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME – Victor Hugo


	8. Cause and Effect

Cause and Effect

Tea prepared and distributed along with assorted sweets – macarons, meringues, walnut cookies and a loaf of Christine's cardamom bread – declared to be excellent. The camaraderie of those present and the sharing of their dessert allowed the mood to shift from fear and anxiety to curiosity and the practical elements of investigation.

"We need to inform Inspector Marquand about this tomorrow," Erik says. "I was also thinking Phillippe might be able to assist."

"Politically?" Nadir asks.

Erik nods. "He would have access to people we do not – to find out the temperature of the Persian community here."

"What I have heard when visiting the café is those who are here are not supportive of the Shah," Darius says. "One of the reasons I felt comfortable there was the general talk about being grateful to be in France.

"That does not necessarily mean there are no infiltrators," Erik says, taking another slice of bread, adding a pat of butter. "Were you aware of Harim's presence earlier?"

"No – the shock of seeing him sent me back in time. Had I even suspected he was in the city, I never would have visited the café."

"Do you think his presence, then, is something new?" Nadir asks, standing up to loosen his belt. "How long has it been since you visited?"

"Months, I would say," Darius replies. "I have been otherwise engaged – both with work and…" his face flushing, "…spending time with Meg."

"What of the gambling?" Adele asks, as she starts to stack the empty plates on the tray. "You would have known about it – you are too observant to let something like that get past you."

"True – if you look at it from that perspective," Darius agrees. "However, when one is not well known, the conversation stays on a level of congeniality. The intense dialogue and other private activities are kept to select groups."

"Are you a member of a select group?" Meg asks, cocking her head as she asks. "I did not know you were political."

Nadir quirks an eyebrow at his protégé.

"My daughter, did you think that Darius' life began when he met you? That all he does is funneled through the Palais Garnier and a lovely young dancer? You heard him say that his visits to the café slowed, if not ended, when he began courting you."

"Please do not mock me, Maman," Meg protests. "You never told me any of this," she says to Darius, pounding a fist on his thigh, her lips in a pout.

"I suspect you never asked," Adele continues, "Did she, Darius?"

"Um."

"I know that answer well, Meg," Christine laughs. "Do not be too harsh with him. Please, Adele, do not bother with the dishes – we can take care of it later."

"Nonsense," she says to Christine. "My daughter, you seldom stop talking long enough to allow anyone a word in edgeways," Adele continues. "Darius is just being a courteous young man. Is that not correct?"

"Um."

"Harrumph," Meg says, folding her arms, slouching deeper into the sofa, the pout deepening.

"Meg?" Darius says, petting her shoulder.

Erik is the first to burst out laughing, followed by Nadir, Adele and Christine. "As always, little Giry, you break the tension with your purity of observation."

Looking at Erik from under her dark lashes, she grins. "There are times when not being brilliant is an advantage."

"And who said you were not brilliant – you are a bright, multi-faceted diamond whose directness is most welcome." Erik holds up the tea pot to her. "More tea?"

"So how is this card game played?" Christine asks, holding her hand out to Nadir for the deck. After he hands them over, she begins idly shuffling them. "They seem well used."

"There are four players, and each player gets five cards, dealt to the right. The dealer puts down a bet. The first player then looks at his cards. If he "goes", he says dîdam (I have seen), and covers the stake or raises it. If he does not wish to play, he says nadîdam, (I have not seen) and throws his cards. He may also "go" without looking at his cards – and says nadîd dîdam (not seeing, I have seen). The second player, if he wishes to play, must cover the bet, and can also raise. The third player and the dealer then act in the same way. When the bets of all players are equal and no one raises any more the cards are turned up and the player holding the best hand wins the stakes.

The hands in the order of their value are as follows: She va just, i.e., three and a pair; a "full". Sehta, i.e. threes, aces, kings, etc. Do just, i.e., two pairs; aces highest. Just, i.e., one pair; aces highest.

When two players have the same pair or pairs, the other cards decide; for instance, a pair of kings, ace, soldier, and lakat.

"Bluffing" is a feature of the game and is called tûp zadan, literally "fire off a gun". A bluff is tûp.

"What does it mean to bluff, tûp," Christine asks.

"When you look at your cards and have a bad hand, but bet as if you have a good hand," Nadir answers.

"So the best hand does not always win?" Adele asks, pushing the used dishes to one side, holding her hand out to Christine to examine the cards. "They are very beautiful."

"Correct," Darius says. "In fact, quite often, the worst hand wins. It is a game of skill, not always drawing the best cards, although if someone has a very good hand, the betting will increase and the play will come down to two players."

"So that is where the larger sums of money come in?" Christine asks.

"Yes," Erik says. "There are likely games being played all over the city, judging from the number of runners there seem to be. Winnings can be made by actually playing or bets can be made for a player who has a good reputation for winning."

"I am wondering about the Aces found in Raoul's cloak," Nadir says. "Was he a player or did he bet on a player? Or were the Aces actually his or planted?"

Taking the cards back from Adele, Christine says, "Harim is a good player?"

Holding his hand out to her for the cards, Erik replaces them in their casket. "Yes."

* * *

_It took only long enough for the sentries to change into the more comfortable shirts and pants, and allow their boyish natures to take over._

_Playful wrestling, acrobatics and often just simple running around to loosen their muscles and discharge the energy that had been held hostage to their jobs. _

_Not long after, other games would be played. The more serious boys loved As Nas. The idea that there was some sort of chance they could win against the play of someone else was tantalizing, despite the teachings. If Majeet could out-wrestle Achmed and that not be a sin. Why could not Harim win at a card game – simply by fooling the other players that he held a better hand? What was wrong about that?_

_His skill at cards both caused attraction and repulsion to the others – attraction to see if he could be beaten – repulsion, the obvious – loss of what little private possessions they might own. The desire to have some treasure overcame their fear of punishment. No one would report them – Harim was in charge. Acquiring chattel of any sort was his obsession – be it a bit of gold spangle displaced from a papus * or a bell from a pacin** found on the floor of the harem hoarded by the sentries to trade._

_In moments of boredom, Erik would explore the living area of the servants. An urge deep within, hoping for some sort of human connection – and understanding that in many ways, despite his favor, for the moment, with the khanum, he was as hobbled as they were._

_They knew him, they knew of him – they also feared him – the little sultana generally left the guards alone, but one never knew with her – so being accommodating to the creator of her tortures was considered wise. After a time, the fear turned to respect and a level of good feelings. Erik turned out to be both entertaining and, in his own way, kind._

"_So what is this game?" Erik asked._

"_As Nas – a game of chance," Harim replied._

"_Will you show me?"_

_All eyes were focused on the exchange. A meeting of giants. Harim was swiftly working his way up, despite his relative youth, a mere fourteen years – strict with the younger boys, and with a commanding presence. His physique strong and muscled, his face smooth, straight nose, eyes liquid chocolate. _

"_Of course."_

_Erik did not visit often, but when he did, he would take the 4__th__ seat in the game. As time went by, he began to win more and more games. Not by any mischievous deeds or due to any fear on the part of the other players – he had simply mastered the game._

_Surprisingly, he would never take keep his winnings – always turning it back to the other players._

"_I have no need or desire for your treasures."_

"_Our humiliation is enough?" Harim responded._

"_Is it wrong to play to win?"_

"_You intimidate them."_

"_You do not?"_

"_Not in the way you do."_

"_We both have power over their lives – you more directly than I – in truth."_

"_Not here."_

"_Everywhere," Erik said, standing – again leaving his gains on the pounded copper table, but picking up the casket holding the deck of cards – pocketing it in his shalvar***. "I see how things are." _

"_My cards…" Harim rises from the table._

"_Your cards? You lost the hand to me."_

"_But you do not desire the winnings – you have said as much," Harim argues. "Besides the cards were not a part of the bet."_

"_They were on the table and I claim them as my winnings," Erik says, "The rest is yours." Nodding to the other players and those in the room who have stopped all activity upon hearing the conversation. "Please, go back to your pleasures. I shall no longer intrude on your relaxation."_

_A number of the boys, stood to protest, but a glare from Harim had them return to their activities._

_Nadir stops him as he crosses the courtyard, returning to his rooms. "No games tonight?"_

"_I have become bored with the games."_

"_It seemed you were enjoying them."_

"_Yes, well, no more. I have some drawings to work on. If you will excuse me."_

_Within the week Harim was promoted to overseer, but not before Erik's rooms were searched and Erik lashed twelve times – the penalty for gambling. As far as he knew, he was the only one punished._

* * *

"Raoul," Phillippe calls out, entering the foyer from his study. Absent only his top hat, he is dressed to go out in his usual dove grey, sporting a somewhat out-of-character lavender and silver, pin-striped waistcoat. "I am glad to see you – I was just going to call for the carriage."

Raoul stops his and Monique's procession down the long hallway carpeted in deeply piled wool in shades of brown, green and gold, the walls paved with oil paintings of de Chagney ancestors, leading to his wing of the mansion. Sighing heavily, his shoulders slump as he turns to face his brother. Monique makes a half turn, keeping her hand on Raoul's arm.

Shifting his eyes to Monique, Phillippe gives a slight bow. "Mlle. Monique, so happy to see you again. It has been a while. You look lovely in the yellow – much like the summer days we are enjoying."

Color rushes to her cheeks, she curtsies and says, "Thank you, Comte Phillippe, you are most kind."

"Not at all." Turning his gaze back to Raoul, he says, "One would think you would wish to parade such a lovely woman through the Bois to show your good taste and good fortune."

"We have been out, _parading_ as you call it. We even had breakfast on the Rue de Rivoli, if that is any of your business."

"Why the bad temper, brother, I was merely going to invite you to join Giselle and myself for a drive and some people watching with, perhaps some dinner afterward. It has been some time since we enjoyed any recreation together."

Raoul's face flushes, nostrils flaring, he looks to Monique. "Does that sound like something you might enjoy?"

Tilting her head, first to one side, then the other – her eyes narrowing as she looks into his, she says, "That sounds lovely. Despite our proximity, I seldom see Giselle anymore – both of us being otherwise engaged when not at the opera house." One side of her mouth quirking in a smile as she winks at Raoul. "I can see the book you wished to show me when we return."

"Tres bien," Phillippe says, clapping his hands. "I shall find Francoise to order the carriage." Leaving them, he goes off down the hall.

Monique takes his lapels in her hands, lifting up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Patience, my darling. You must maintain the goodwill of your brother. It serves nothing for you to be cross with him all the time."

Leaning forward to continue the kiss, she gives him a peck, patting him on the chest. "It would not do for Phillippe to see us kissing."

"He is no stranger to kissing or other acts of affection."

"Nevertheless…"

"You will return with me…after the outing…as we planned?"

"Mmm hmm…" she giggles.

"The carriage is being made ready – shall we wait outside?" Phillippe announces, re-entering the hallway, taking his hat from the hat rack. "This house gets quite oppressive in the summer."

"Of course, Phillippe," Raoul says. "Whatever you say." Offering his arm to Monique, they follow Phillippe out the front door.

* * *

Erik and Christine see their guests to the door. "I would say we should do this more often, but must amend that to add: when we have not all been shaken by events from the past," he says.

"I shall take care of getting word to le Comte and Edouard," Nadir says, nibbling on the last cookie from the dessert plate.

"You are eating entirely too many sweets," Adele scolds.

"Says the woman who eats meringues for breakfast."

"They amount to no more than the sugar cubes you put into your coffee, turning it into syrup – especially after adding the cream." Scrunching her nose and pursing her lips, she shakes her head.

"Darius is the same with his coffee," Meg adds.

"One must have some sort of vice," he answers, placing a hand against her back, assisting her out the door.

"Good night Uncle Erik. Good night, Christine," she says, moving farther down the hall, she can be heard saying, "I thought I was your vice…" Then the sound of her light laughter in counterpoint to his lower tone.

"Until tomorrow," Nadir says, taking Adele's arm, following the younger couple to the lift.

* * *

The pale green room, golden in the light of the setting sun is quiet, but for Darius' humming as he runs his fingers through Meg's hair.

"Do I really not let you speak?" She asks, hopping fully onto the couch, sitting on her knees, arms folded in front of her."

"Is this in inquisition?" he laughs. Sitting back, crossing his own arms, mimicking her.

"Noooo, but Maman said that I do not let you get a word in edgeways – and that I do not treat you as if you are a person in your own right."

"I do not recall her saying all of that."

"I know what she meant."

"You have a lot of energy, my Meg, that is sometimes overwhelming."

"So, I do."

"I always say what I need to express."

"But, I do not know things about you – like this café and the card games and what happened to you in Persia, because I am talking about trivial things." Falling on her hip, she snuggles next to him. "I am sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he places his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. "You are perfect as you are. You make me laugh."

"You find me silly."

"I find you loveable and loving."

"Are we going to be married?"

"Yes, I believe that would be a fine idea."

"So are we engaged?"

Digging into the pocket of his waistcoat, he pulls out a small box. Opening it to reveal an oval of rose quartz, surrounded by a halo of small white diamonds set in platinum. "Yes, I think so, if you wear this ring, I believe it will feel more real for both of us."

Meg holds out her hand as Darius slides the ring on her finger. "It fits."

"M. Erik told me about borrowing your glove. He appears to be right, yet again."

"I love it," she says, holding it up. Turning to him, she says, "I love you."

"You will never know the joy you have brought to me, Meg."

Their kiss is disturbed by the sound of the lock being unlatched and the door opening. Monique precedes Raoul into the small sitting room. Phillippe and Giselle visible behind them in the hallway.

"Oh," Monique gasps. "I am sorry, I did not think you would be at home."

"Why not?" Meg asks. "I do not recall you asking my plans for the evening."

The look on Raoul's face, shifts from placidity to agitation – his blue eyes glare at Monique and he bites his lower lip. Turning to speak to Phillippe, he says, "It would appear that I will be returning with you this evening after all."

"No, Raoul, please, stay," Monique says. "We must talk."

"It is both inappropriate and unfair to Meg and Darius," he says. "We can speak of our situation later – this is not the time," he tells her. "If it is not too great an inconvenience to you, my brother wishes to walk Giselle to her door and when he returns, I will take my leave."

"Raoul, you are welcome here," Darius says. "I was going to be leaving shortly, it has been a long day."

"Yes, it has," Meg says, jumping to her feet. Prancing over to Monique and Raoul, who move away from the door to the dining table, she waves at Phillippe and Giselle to come in. "Please, be the first to admire my ring."

"You are to wed?" Phillippe asks. "Congratulations!"

"Meg, your ring is so beautiful – pink, of course," Giselle says, holding Meg's hand, shifting it back and forth to see the ring better.

Monique crushes Meg in a hug. "I am so happy for you."

Raoul pats Darius on the back. "You are a lucky man."

"It is all very exciting." Darius agrees.

"Is there anything in the kitchen for a toast?" Monique asks, taking a step toward the curtained room.

"I shall take care of it," Meg says, pushing past her. "I think there is some sweet wine. We were going to buy some champagne, but became distracted on our walk along the Rue de Rivoli."

"What could be so distracting there?" Monique asks. "We took a carriage ride around noon and there was nothing to be seen but people enjoying their Sunday. In fact, I believe Alex said he would be visiting a coffee house – something about an old acquaintance."

"We saw him standing on the sidewalk!" Meg exclaims, turning back. "Did we not, Darius?"

With a sharp shake of his head, Darius explains through pursed lips, "We saw _someone_ with red hair and assumed it was Alex."

Monique laughs. "It was probably he. Indeed we are easily identified. Too bad you could not converse – he so wants to make friends here."

Raoul clears his throat. "Does he now?" Striding over to the sofa, he flops down, removing his hat, tossing it on the coffee table.

"He is welcome here any time, you should know that," Meg says. "Now let me see to the wine."

Darius follows, but not before noticing Giselle's stare and the eyebrow she quirks at him.

A barely noticeable tip of his head invites her to follow him into the kitchen.

"Excuse me – I shall help Meg and Darius with the refreshments," Giselle says, moving quickly before Phillippe is aware she has left his side.

"Well, it seems we are going to have a celebratory drink," Phillippe says, frowning at Giselle's exit, exchanging it for a smile as he faces his brother and Monique. "May we sit, Monique?"

"Of course, how rude of me," she replies, centering herself on the sofa next to Raoul. "I often forget that this is my home, I still feel like a guest – although it is no one's fault but my own."

"I have invited Monique to return to our house, Phillippe," Raoul says, taking her hand, smiling down at her. "You can see yourself she is not at ease here."

"Indeed?" the older man says, pulling up his trouser legs before taking a seat in one of the armchairs, and crosses his legs. "And how do you feel about that, Monique? You are most welcome, of course. I just wonder – you did not seem happy with us when you joined our household before."

"That was different, Phillippe, and you know it," Raoul growls.

"I have no intention of awakening painful memories," is Phillippe's retort, "however, I am concerned for her happiness and comfort. Heaven knows we have the room – two bachelors rattling around in a mansion seldom seeing one another – we might as well be living in different cities."

"Thank you for your welcome, M. le Comte, but I told Raoul I was taking a flat with my brother."

Phillippe searches Raoul's face, but his brother refuses to look at him. "I see."

* * *

"_What is going on?" Giselle asked once they were all in the kitchen._

"_We saw Alex with someone I knew in Persia," Darius replied._

"_He was Darius' master."_

"_Oh, Darius, that must have been alarming."_

_Darius nodded._

"_This is not good."_

"_Much depends upon why Harim is in Paris – I do not believe it has anything to do with us, as far as Persia, at the moment."_

"_But it could."_

"_In the future, yes, it could."_

"_Uncle Erik and Nadir want to talk to Phillippe…and Inspector Marquand."_

"_I see," Giselle said. "Officer Fremed is likely visiting Veronique, as he does most Sundays – I see no reason why I cannot be the messenger to both men."_

"_Perfect –that way le Vicomte and Monique need not know."_

"_So you are suspicious of Alex?"_

"_Yes, although, to be honest, we have not determined why." Darius admits._

"_And Raoul?"_

"_His cloak was covering the murder victim."_

"_Ah – I had not been made aware of that," she said, brow furrowed, looking down and away._

"_You know something?" Meg asks. "You left us just now."_

"_No, not really – not yet – a flash of memory at the mention of the cloak – I must think on it," she said. "In the meantime, I shall suggest Phillippe meet with M. Erik and M. Nadir at the Garnier tomorrow morning."_

"_And ask Officer Fremed to speak to the inspector?"_

"_Yes."_

"_We best be getting back to them," Meg said, layering the slices of bread and cheese she has cut into portions onto a plate._

* * *

Meg returns to the room carrying the refreshments, followed by Darius with a tray of wine glasses and Giselle in possession of the wine.

"You are moving? When? Where?" Meg asks, taking the plate to the coffee table, she sets it down before sitting next to Monique, taking her hand. "I thought you were happy here."

"My timing seems to be perfect – with you and Darius getting married," she says. "My brother and I have been separated for so many years. We wish to reclaim some of that lost time."

Darius and Giselle attempt to mask their surprise at this announcement. "More to tell our bosses tomorrow," Giselle says, under her breath. With a brief nod to one another, they begin pouring the wine and handing out the glasses.

Phillippe tears his eyes from his brother to smile warmly at Giselle as she pours his wine. "Thank you, my dear."

Raoul is glum, hardly noticing their return until Darius holds the glass directly in his face. Almost knocking the glass from Darius hand as he grabs it and takes a long swallow.

Monique continues to cling to his hand, even as she accepts her goblet.

Waiting for Giselle to serve herself, Darius offers Meg her glass and holds his up in a toast. "Happiness to each of us on our new journeys." Taking only a small sip before putting his glass down on the coffee table.

"Happiness," Raoul says, taking another deep swallow. "Someone must inform me about the meaning of that word someday."

* * *

The sitting room empty of visitors, remnants of assorted desserts, cups and silver service cleared from the coffee table, all but one lamp extinguished. Sitting alone on the settee, Erik runs his long fingers over the As Nas cards one more time before replacing them in the ebony box, returning it to the coffee table. A chuckle escapes his lips at the recollection of her comment about any of their friends wishing to abscond with any of the contents.

He supposed she would examine his treasures – or the remains of what was his life before Paris – most worthless in terms of monetary value. Little pretties – a scarab from an Egyptian bazaar said to have belonged to Queen Cleopatra. He was amused at that description, but loved the look of the beetle complete with spread wings. A stick of incense of a particularly strong myrrh. The cocoon of a silk worm.

Then there were the pretties of great value to men. A leather pouch of gemstones pilfered from the Shah – rubies, sapphires, emeralds – Christine's black diamond was part of this lot. Perhaps she would prefer the blue diamond – the black retained for a later, grimmer time. A large white had been;l a gift to Nadir, some of the smaller stones sold over the years to provide him with his needs, but, for the most part intact – taken one by one, so as not to cause alarm. Payment for his services, he felt – and the torture.

"What are you about?" Christine asks, coming from their bedroom, drying her hair with a heavy cloth.

"Taking a trip down memory lane – much easier on the body than an actual journey, although, perhaps a trifle sad without similar rewards."

"Is there something in the box that saddens you?" she asks, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Leaning over, he smells her damp hair, "Jasmine. I do love the jasmine – it suits you – sweet, but with a peppery bite."

Proving his point, she nips his shoulder, then kisses the same spot before folding the heavy cloth, placing it on the table. "In reverse order, but, yes, I suppose that describes me." Pulling the box toward her, she opens it, riffling her fingers through some colored papers, until she sees a butterfly in a glass jar. "This, perhaps?"

Erik nods.

"Reza?"

"Reza."

* * *

"_Erik, be still."_

"_What? Why?"_

"_Shhhh."_

_Erik risked following the boy's wide green eyes to his own shoulder. A butterfly in shades of brown, orange, white and gold had landed there, seemingly happy to settle for a time. "Vanessa cardui – painted lady."_

_It was spring and the fine weather had them enjoying the hillside near Nadir's home. Flowers of bright yellow, orange and pink were in bloom. Bees could be observed darting from flower to flower and the occasional butterfly would join them tasting the sweet nectar. Metamorphosis had taken place – the struggle was over and now they were simply free._

_However, much Reza wanted to be still, he was so excited. "Make a wish. A butterfly on your shoulder means you shall have your heart's desire."_

_The butterfly was not disturbed by the whispers and gentle tugging the boy made on the man's white robe. The creature appeared to be comfortable in their company. The three of them sat, quietly enjoying the breeze._

_After what might have been hours or simply minutes, she chose to move on._

"_Did you make a wish, Erik? Did you?"_

"_Yes, I did," Erik responded. "Would you like to know what it was?"_

"_Oh, no, that would be bad luck," Reza said with great solemnity. "I hope it comes true."_

"_As do I, my young friend."_

_Of course, his wish had not come true, the boy died despite his prayer – one of the few times he recalled praying. A reminder that his prayers most often fell on deaf ears._

* * *

"Whether this was the same butterfly, I do not know – probably not. I found this one later, on the path. One so seldom sees the corpse of an animal in the wild – they seem to know when death is near and will find a private place for their final rest. Reza had already gone to bed, so did not see. I think he would have been terribly upset."

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Christine asks, putting the butterfly back into the box and replacing the lid. She rests against his shoulder, taking one of his hands in hers.

"I suppose I should. I find it confusing that I should be gifted in so many ways, yet cursed in others. It is as though, someone – God, perhaps, took a few qualities from here and some from there and said – this is who Erik shall be."

"I very much love this Erik."

"Not all of him, I suspect – however, this is my difficulty with the concept of some supreme being – I would think the god that created me was perhaps indulging in opium or acting on a whim or a bet. You, on the other hand, suggests he was drinking of the sweetest of nectars when the creation mood struck."

Christine chuckles. "I did not think that reincarnation had anything to do with god – just that we bring with us gifts and failings that must be addressed in the new life. Karma, is that not what the Buddhists call this – cause and effect?"

"Even worse, then I must blame myself and you know how difficult that is for me," he chuffs. "Do you suppose if I returned the cards to Harim, we could put this situation to rest?"

Pressing finger to her lips, she side-eyes him and says, "What I have gleaned from your scratchy translation of the _Lotus Sutra_ suggests not. The deck of cards was never really the issue, hmmm."

"What of his sins toward me?" he argues. "What of his debt? He would be covered by the same law as I – no?"

"There is that," she admits. "What I can say with some confidence is – this is a time when you may be able to resolve your past actions."

Rolling his eyes, he groans, then says, "Speaking of past actions." Taking her hands to his lips, he rises from the settee. "You come to me fragrant with the smell of flowers, but I sit here, wearing these clothes that reek of my sweat."

"I do not mind."

"You are most generous, but I think I shall have a shower and return to you smelling fresh and clean."

"I shall come with you."

"You have already bathed."

"Then I shall watch – perhaps wash your back, if you like."

"I would like." In spite of himself and their months of intimacy, Erik blushes. "As I said – sweet with a bite." Sighing deeply, he holds his hand out to her. "Perhaps Reza was correct after all. I prayed my loved one would stay with me."

"I am here, but he is here, too. In your memory – your heart – your mind. Love never dies – you wrote that."

"So I did. So I did."

* * *

A/N - the description of the As Nas card game is thanks to Wikipedia.

*papus – velvet slippers with gold spangles, rhinestones.

**pacin – skirt with bells sewn in the hems.

***shalvar – men's pants


	9. Relations

Relations

"Does my butt look big?" Christine asks, standing in front of the cheval mirror, trying on one of her new dresses made to accommodate the changes in her body. The pale green silk, studded with tiny coral roses creating a v-pattern where a bustle would normally rest, with a small train of gathered fabric, flows softly to the floor.

"Your derriere is perfect, my dear," Erik says, observing her from the bed, where he lies, propped up on his elbow, reading the paper, trying to discern if there are any solicitations for gambling disguised as legitimate ads.

"So it _does_ look big." she pouts, turning to face him – the gown reversing the v-pattern on the front, with the fabric lying against her growing stomach.

"I believe I said it was perfect," he says, folding the paper, realizing that he somehow missed a cue in the nature of the question – any answer was likely to be misconstrued by his bride. Hoping to avoid any further upset, he moves to stand behind her, allowing his hands to glide over her hips. "See how perfectly the fabric molds to your body."

Pulling away, she stands sideways, to view herself again. "But my bottom…"

"Christine, you are perfectly in fashion."

"So it appears that I am wearing a bustle when I am not." Tears well up in her green eyes. "I am getting fat and will soon look like Carlotta, body parts bursting out all over the place."

Taking her into his arms, rocking her gently. "You are not fat and you will never be like Carlotta in any manner that I can begin to imagine," he says, kissing her neck above the lace piping on her collar. "That is our baby growing inside of you."

"You do not find me unattractive then?"

"I doubt that would be possible for me – you are my angel, always."

Turning to look into his eyes, seeing the soft amber glow of his eyes – so soothing to her, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss. "I am sorry for being so silly."

"You are not silly – at least not _so_ silly."

"Must you go to the theater?" she asks.

"I am afraid so – Nadir and I hope to meet with Inspector Marquand and Comte Phillippe," he says. "Did you not make plans with Adele and Meg to go shopping?"

"Yes, but I thought we might have time…" Glancing at their forms in the mirror, she says, "I was just reminded we have never utilized the mirror as you promised."

"You are a vixen," he laughs. "After last night, I should think you would be tired of seeing my scarred and beaten body. You were only supposed to wash my back."

* * *

"_Not there – you know that tickles." Erik bent over, tucking his elbows to his waist to protect him from the torture her small hands were inflicting on him. Twisting around so quickly water flew from his body, dousing Christine and much of the marble tiled floor – he wrapped his arms around her maintaining his footing._

"_You have completely drenched me," she exclaimed, holding him upright, laughter bubbling from her._

"_That is what comes from being a temptress attempting to drive her poor husband mad. Had you maintained civilized behavior – if watching me shower is considered civilized – you might have maintained your bathed, dried and powdered condition. Now, however, you must suffer the pains of your assault," he says, pulling her into the shower stall he designed for his comfort, bypassing the necessity of stepping into and out of a tub._

"_No, Erik, I am soaked."_

"_I am so sorry," he says, turning off the water. "The remedy for that, of course, is to remove your clothing." Untying the ribbons at the neckline, he stripped her of her dressing gown, letting it fall. _

"_So that is how it is to be?" Christine followed suit and disposed of the nightdress in like manner._

"_I suspect this was your original intent," Erik said, pushing her hair from her forehead, continuing the movement of his hands down her back to rest on her naked hips._

"_Blame me, will you?" she teased, grinding her groin against his, grabbing his buttocks. "I strongly sense – very strongly sense – your complete willingness and desire for this engagement."_

"_Do you mean this?" He asked, removing one of her hands from his bottom, placing it on his member. A gasp of pleasure is expelled as her hand molded around him, stroking him, encouraging his stiffening._

"_I cannot fool you, can I?" was her response, fingers curled to cup and gently squeeze his scrotum._

"_One good turn deserves another, would you not say?" Removing her hand, he says, "Come." Leading her from the stall onto a soft rug, he wrapped a large towel around her – deftly dabbing the soft cotton against her skin to both dry and caress her breasts, belly, thighs. _

_Kneeling in front of her, long fingers combed through the damp curls that guard her private place, parting the hair to massage her slit, he leaned forward, inserting his tongue – flicking and suckling her clit._

_A sharp intake of breath, followed by a deep sigh advised him of her pleasure. A small smile crossed his face as his tongue probed deeper. _

_Christine's knees weakened and, with a shudder, she grabbed his shoulders, rocking to the rhythm he created. "Mer."_

_As he rose to his feet, maintaining contact with her, she took his member, guiding it to her entry. With flexed knees, he gripped her buttocks, lifting her up as she wrapped her legs around his hips, arms around his neck, fingertips digging into his back. _

_He filled her._

"_The bedroom?" He whispers._

_A quick shake of her head. "Nej. Har." She points to the bureau._

_Set atop the antique vanity, her arms bracing her, legs wide, draped over his arms. Half-lidded and dreamy eyes watched as he plunged into her – his skin still wet from the shower, his scars glistening in the dim light. Sensing his golden eyes fixed on her, she looked up and chortled, "Det ar bra."_

"_Ah, Christine," he groaned, each thrust faster and harder, carrying both of them to the edge…_

"_Focka mig, min karlek. Focka mig."_

…_And over._

* * *

"I agree that utilizing the mirror might require a bit of doing – setting it up properly…" she says, breaking away from his embrace to find a hat to complement her outfit in the armoire. "Perhaps it is best to wait for a more opportune time."

Erik rolls his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he sits on the bench at the end of the bed. "Will you be shopping for anything in particular?"

"No," she answers, having found a straw bonnet with rosebuds similar to those adorning her dress. "Adele wanted the three of us to spend some frivolous time together."

"I must commend you. I would find it difficult using the word frivolous and Adele in the same sentence."

Christine chuckles. "True enough. When she said it, her look suggested she, too, found it uncomfortable."

"Were you close?" he asks. "There seems to always be tension between you."

The bonnet securely pinned to her hair, knotted into a smooth chignon at the base of her neck, she turns for his approval. "Voila!"

"Stunning," he says. "You did not answer my question."

"Was that a question – it seemed more a statement." The words rough on her tongue.

"I made a statement after the question."

"Ah, I thought you were answering yourself." The blush of her rouge darkens with the flush rising on her cheeks.

"Christine – you are deflecting." He opens his arms to her. "Come here. Tell me."

The green of her eyes flash. "There is nothing to tell."

"But your clenched fists and thrust of your jaw suggest otherwise."

Pressing one of those fists to her nose, she sniffles, then brushes a tear from each of her eyes.

"Tell me," he repeats – continuing to offer his arms.

* * *

"_You slept with him, you cared for him – why do you not cry for him now?"_

"_I do not know, Christine. Perhaps it is too soon."_

"_I can do nothing but grieve, but you just go on as if nothing happened."_

"_That is not true."_

_Adele reached for her, but Christine flinched – backing away._

"_Do not try to touch me now – you have never touched me before."_

"_You would not let me."_

"_You had him to touch. You had Meg to touch."_

"_That did not mean I did not wish to hold you close – to show you affection."_

"_You took my father from me."_

"_So that is what you think."_

"_I know."_

"_No one could have ever taken Gustave from you, Christine. He loved you with his entire being. I was a friend and, yes, a physical comfort – but he did not love me – at least not in the way he loved you and your mother."_

"_I miss him."_

"_I do, too."_

"_Why do you not cry?"_

_Adele could only shake her head.*_

* * *

Christine rests her head against his chest, wiping her nose with his handkerchief. "She never cried for him."

"Perhaps she cried when she was alone," Erik says. "She is a proud woman."

"She did not love him."

"You know that is not true. You yourself told me that she cared for him, feeding – seeing to his hygiene – when he was ill – when you and Meg were unwill…unable to help."

"He was my father."

Erik laughs. "I think I understand."

"You do?"

"There are some things that parents need to remain private from their children, hmmm?"

Sitting up straight, her eyes widen, her mouth forming a small O. "I never thought…"

"Adele took care of Louis and Gustave, just as Gustave took care of your mother for the same reason. You and Meg were children. While we did not use it – there is a marriage vow about _in sickness and in health_. You cared for me when I was ill – I cared for you when you were ill. We know one another's bodies."

"She did not steal him from me?"

"No."

Christine sighs, blowing her nose one more time before getting off of Erik's lap, returning his handkerchief. "I am a silly fool."

"No – you were young and you were grieving. Forgive her – forgive yourself," he says, rising to toss the soiled square into the laundry bin. "You were able to forgive me – so, God knows, the task of forgiving Adele should be quite easy for you."

* * *

Nadir rests his elbows on the desk, his chin balanced on his fists studying a scattering of colored discs and a red cup sit on a square black mat in front him. Darius leans back in the visitor's chair, a smirk threatening to break into a full smile as he observes his former master.

Nadir presses a colored disc against a smaller disc, flipping it into a small cup. "Hah!"

Without missing a beat, Darius leans forward making a similar move – his chip also landing in the cup.

Nadir succeeds in landing another disc and applauds himself. "Not bad for a beginner."

Darius shakes his head, flipping a disc on top of one of Nadir's. "Hah!"

"What is that?"

"Now you cannot flip that disc into the cup."

"Is that fair?"

"Of course, it is fair."

Nadir rubs his chin, before pushing the chips aside. "Well, it does not make sense. You lose your chip as well."

"That is why we have more than one color to use." Darius laughs. "You do not like games very much, do you?"

"And you like them too much, I think," is the response. "What do you call this?"

"Here in France it is called jeu de puces – tiddlywinks."

"Another game from the harem?"

Darius shrugs. "Meg wonders how I know these games and frets when I go out – but, she hates my jigsaw puzzles."

"Can you blame her?"

"Perhaps not, but I find the need for entertainment – there was little available to the slaves. Cards and puzzles are more enjoyable with other players, so I visit the café or I play against myself."

"You never cease to amaze me. You and Erik were cut from the same cloth, I think, in many ways."

"Are you complimenting me by some strange chance?" Erik asks as he walks through the hall door.

"No tunnels today?"

"We are at Rue de Rivoli, or did you forget where you were last night?"

"You just seem to relish surprise entries and that usually means sneaking up on me."

"Are we feeling the victim today, Daroga?" Erik asks, walking to the desk to examine the colored discs. "What is this?"

"A game I discovered not long ago," Darius says.

"From the look on his face, I take it the daroga lost."

"We only started our game," Darius says. "He is actually ahead."

"Bravo!" Erik says, slapping Nadir on the back as he strides to the armoire to prepare a cup of tea for himself. "By the way, I did surprise you by using the front door."

"I suppose acting like a normal human being is a surprise coming from you," Nadir sniggers.

"I shall allow you that one," Erik responds, taking his seat at the partners' desk. "Are we to meet with Inspector Marquand and Comte Phillippe this morning?"

"Yes," Darius says. "When Monique arrived home last evening, Comte Phillippe and Giselle were with them. I took the liberty of telling Giselle something of the situation and she advised le Comte and Officer Fremed of your desire to have a meeting."

"That was fortuitous – yes, involving Giselle is imperative, she has access to both the workers here and my cousin," Erik sips his tea, making a moue and spitting it back into the cup. "What is this – it tastes like soap?"

"I was feeling dyspeptic and brewed some garlic and ginger."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"You have said both are good for digestion."

"Not together," Erik exclaims. "So that is the excuse for your irritable nature?"

"Only today – the rest of the time it is a result of your company."

Erik waves him off. "Did it help…your stomach?"

"No, I could not drink it – I spit it out as well."

"Then why leave it?"

Nadir snickers, exchanging a side eye with Darius.

"I see – and you accuse me of behaving like a child." Erik picks up his cup and returns it to the armoire, removing the water pitcher and pouring the liquid into the bowl. Filling the kettle again, he sets it to boil and brings out another teapot, filling a tea ball with his preferred Darjeeling.

"Darius has some news," Nadir rocks back in his chair – unable to contain a broad smile.

"Indeed? News that would have Monsieur Trickster brighten so much?" Erik rests against the hutch.

Darius' smile rivals Nadir's, his face flushing with pleasure, green eyes sparkling.

"Are congratulations in order?" Erik asks, his own smile obvious, despite part of it being camouflaged by his mask.

Darius nods. "Meg and I are to be wed. We just sort of agreed it was a good idea, so I gave her the ring I have been carrying around for several weeks now."

"The stone?"

"Rose quartz, surrounded by small white diamonds – she likes pink."

"As we all well know," Nadir says.

"I wish I had known – I have a lovely ruby…"

"Thank you, M. Erik, you are most kind. Were it not for you and M. Nadir, I would not have this job. There would be no Meg, no engagement and no money to buy her a ring with my own earnings."

"It would have been a gift from the Shah, but of course I understand."

"The Shah?"

"Tokens of his appreciation for my hard work."

Darius cocks his head, puzzled.

"He stole them," Nadir says. "However, they were earned. The Shah felt that death would have been more appropriate – both Erik and I agreed he was wrong."

Erik laughs.

"I did not know about the jewels," Darius says. "Is this something Harim might be aware of?"

"Truly, I do not know – Nadir?"

"Unlikely, at least up until I left. We do not know where Harim fit into the Shah's household after that."

"We shall hope not, but hold it in abeyance," Erik says, taking his seat at the desk. "More importantly, you had a celebration then, last night, when you returned home?"

"Hardly that," Darius says, leaning forward to fold his arms on the desk, tapping his squidger. He goes on to fill Nadir and Erik in on the events of the prior evening. "I am only sorry none of us stayed in the sitting room when Phillippe was alone with Raoul and Monique. Raoul was quite upset."

"His normal state, it would seem," Erik comments. "The boy is cross all the time."

"Sometimes with good reason," Nadir quirks an eyebrow. "The good thing is you no longer seem to be the reason for his angst."

"He always manages to find something to distress him." Erik picks up one of the discs, examining it. "These could be painted to look like coins, instead of, what did you call them – winks?"

"The weight is wrong," Nadir says, picking up his own squidger and one of the smaller discs to examine before tossing them back on the desktop. "As for Raoul, I think he may have had quite a nice life before you entered it – but, as you say – he does tend to create much of his own misery."

"If it involves the case, I suspect we can find out from Phillippe – otherwise, I am happy to leave him to his own devices," Erik says, continuing to fiddle with the disc. "Maybe these could be substituted for actual coins during the card game – then cashed in for real money."

"Do you think that is how the mistake was made with Reynald? Not a theft, but a simple mistake as he said?" Darius asks.

"It is a thought." Erik tosses his discs into the cup.

"Do you believe Raoul to be a pawn?" Darius asks.

"Possibly – the business with the cloak is too obvious," Nadir says. "I still find it strange he brought one at all – the weather being what it is."

"Protecting someone else?" Darius asks.

"Good thinking," Erik says. "Let us hope Giselle can help us with some answers." The kettle whistles and he rises to make another pot of tea. "Do you want some of this tea?" He asks, holding up the pot.

Nadir and Darius both nod eagerly.

"You denied yourselves a cup of tea just to fool me?" Erik shakes his head, then brings out cups and saucers, placing them on a tray with the teapot, sugar bowl and creamer, and carries it to the desk. "Bicarbonate of soda in a glass of water would likely have cured your stomach upset without the bad taste. You could also have brewed a decent drink for the two of you."

"It was worth the look on your face," Nadir says, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. "And now you are serving us."

A knock on the door interrupts their banter.

"Enter," Nadir says.

Phillippe and Marquand walk through the door together.

"Meeting the Inspector in the hall has my interest piqued," Phillippe says. "My Giselle would not say why you wished to see me."

"Your Giselle?" Erik asks.

"A man can hope, can he not?"

"I believe that is something each of us here can agree on," Erik says. "Please have a seat, gentlemen. We have a story to tell and need your assistance to find a happy ending."

* * *

The three women enter Adele's office, Meg, gowned in a pale coral – complementing Christine's pale green – closes the door behind them.

"Sit for a moment, girls," Adele says. "I have some paperwork to finish, then we can go." Taking a seat at her desk, she turns on her desk lamp and pulls out some papers.

Christine and Meg sit on the chaise, but Meg cannot sit still.

"What is it? You are more jittery than usual," Christine says. "You act as if you are about to take flight."

"Darius and I are engaged," Meg exclaims, pulling the ring from her reticule and places it on her finger, holding it up for her mother and best friend to see. "I was going to wait until we were at lunch, but I am too excited."

"Meg – that is wonderful," Christine says, embracing her. "I had no idea you were that serious."

"Why not?"

Christine pauses a moment to think, then laughs, "I do not know why not. You are perfect together."

"Maman – what do you think?"

Adele smiles at her daughter. "After our talk yesterday, I was fairly certain you would be announcing your news very soon. Come here, let me see the ring."

Meg bounces over to the desk, holding her left hand out.

"It is lovely – very much you."

"He is so smart, is he not?"

"He loves you," Christine says. "So, yes, he must be very smart."

"When did this happen?"

Meg shares the story of the previous evening.

"Raoul and Phillippe were there?" Adele asks.

"After – they came after."

"Too bad you were interrupted – you say Raoul and Monique seemed to be quarrelling?" Christine asks.

"Just Raoul – Monique was being Monique. She has become quite strange – one never knows what she is thinking – she has become a mannequin – always smiling a sweet smile that never reaches her eyes. She holds his hand, but then tells him she is moving in with her brother."

Adele raises her eyebrows. "You will be in the flat alone."

"Maman – you know that Darius will move in – how often is he in his room at Nadir's?"

"I try to ignore that," Adele sighs. "You two visit – I must get these figures together, then we can go."

Meg returns to the chaise and takes Christine's hands. They put their heads together and giggle.

"What about Phillippe and Giselle?" Christine whispers.

Meg shrugs, whispering as well. "Another sphinx, that one. He is totally smitten, but she keeps him on a leash."

"I can still hear you," Adele says, looking up from her work. "That is how you have to play these nobles – otherwise they take advantage of you."

Christine clears her throat.

"You are telling me you slept with Raoul?" Meg asks. "All those months you did not say anything…to me?"

"Actually, no, I did not," Christine says. "He never pressured me at all."

"Because he was involved with that Marie-Corrinne person," Meg says. "Phillippe is no longer seeing Sorelli, so I suspect he is getting antsy-pantsy."

The girls laugh, holding their stomachs.

The laughter stops abruptly with a sharp knock and the door opening without a welcome issued.

"Madame Fairmonte," Adele says, rising from her desk, straightening the papers she was working on, putting them to one side. "Please come in. To what do I owe this honor?"

"You need not bother with the niceties, Madame Giry – we are both women of practicality," The sister of Firmin Richard says. The formidable woman, a stylish royal blue bonnet, matching her charmeuse day dress, sits atop perfectly coiffed steel-gray hair, uses her imposing bosom and distinct aura of wealth and power to tower over the former ballerina.

For all her presence, Adele's persona is quiet and contained. Genevieve's is anything but. To her credit, she eschews the faux niceties of those of the upper classes – the Richards are nouveau riche, so, often shunned by the nobles themselves. Consequently, in demeanor, she and Adele are actually more alike than many would suppose seeing them together.

That this woman should be married to Reynald is difficult for Adele to comprehend. Still, one with a practiced eye could see the handsome man beneath the corruption of time and alcohol – and he did have a charm and sense of humor, a knack he engaged when in trouble. Another example of the ladies' man and the good girl, she supposes.

Genevieve gave no indication in her manner her husband was a reprobate. Genevieve loved the Opera, so Firmin and his best friend from childhood, Armand Moncharmin, invested in the Opera at her insistence.

"You are here to talk about Reynald?" Adele shifts her gaze to Meg and Christine.

Genevieve takes notice of the younger women for the first time. "Ladies?"

"You know my daughter and God-daughter, Marguerite…and Christine – La Daae?"

"Of course. Of course – pleased to meet you. I have had the pleasure of seeing you both perform."

"We shall wait in the Security Office, Adele," Christine says standing up, grabbing Meg's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Madame Fairmonte. I shall always be grateful to your brother for giving me the opportunity to sing here."

Genevieve examines her from head to toe. "Yes, he chose well. You are far superior to Carlotta – prettier, too. We must have dejeuner sometime soon."

"Yes. Soon," Christine says, pulling Meg with her to the door. "Come along, Meg. See you shortly, Adele."

They leave Adele to face Genevieve. Sitting down again, she indicates Genevieve take a seat on the vacated chaise. "What is it you want for him?"

"He likes being stage manager – he almost resembles the man he once was."

"He is a terrible stage manager and is costing the Opera House money with his mistakes. The title suggests that he actually manage – something he seems incapable of doing."

Genevieve pauses and examines Adele's dark eyes – hard and firm – unlikely to bend on this topic. "Well, then, what?"

"Nothing."

"You must give him something."

"Excuse me?"

"I am asking you to give him something."

"It sounded as if you were ordering me."

"That is my way," Genevieve says, looking down at her lap, knotting her hands.

Adele raises an eyebrow.

"This is not easy for me. Please give him something – some work. Our children..."

"He is useless."

"Do you think I do not know that?" Genevieve glares at her. "He was a clever child, so beaten for it – sly his father called him. Perhaps he was right, but I cannot abandon him."

"Even now."

"Yes, even now." Her back straightens, the lost composure regained. "I will do my utmost to control his behavior."

Adele rubs her forehead.

"I will reimburse his salary – he cannot know. Whatever pride he may have left, I wish he be allowed to keep."

"It is not entirely up to me."

Pursing her lips, Genevieve says, "He has information about the gambling ring."

"You might have said so sooner."

"It could put him in danger – others here as well."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"All right," Adele says. "I will have to take this up with Messrs. Saint-Rien and Kahn, but all right. They may wish to speak with you further, since Reynald swears he knows nothing."

"He is afraid – as am I – not only for him+, but for our family," Genevieve says, rising from the chaise, offering her hand. "You will not regret this."

"I hope not"

* * *

Unable to control their giggles – Christine and Meg, stumble against the wall, holding their sides.

"I have had the pleasure of seeing you both perform," Meg says, mimicking Genevieve, as she sashays down the hall, an index finger holding up her nose.

"We must have dejeuner sometime soon," Christine says, following Meg's lead, swishing her skirts back and forth. "I find that invitation suspect. She is one of Carlotta's best friends – or at least that is how it appears to me."

The joking over, Meg takes Christine's arm, strolling to the Security Office. "I thought she was rich – why would she come begging for Reynald to keep his job?"

Christine shrugs. "Pride, maybe. Or he is afraid," she says, turning to meet Meg's eyes. "Or both."

"I suppose I can understand that – he does act conceited sometimes."

"Here we are," Christine says, stopping outside the office. "Should we say something about Mme. Fairmonte – or wait?

Meg looks askance at her friend and laughs before she bursts into the office, leaving Christine with no option but to follow on her heels. "Guess who is with Mam...oh, we did not know you would be busy."

"Did you think we came to work to play games?" Erik says, glancing down at the tiddlywinks still occupying the desktop, smirking at Nadir and Darius.

Nadir sweeps the discs up with his hand and tosses them into the red cup, putting it into his desk drawer. "We thought you were all going shopping or some such," he says. "Where is your mother?"

"Adele wanted to complete some paperwork first," Christine explains, walking to Erik's side, kissing him on the cheek.

Standing up, he pulls out the chair for her. "Tea, ladies," he asks, starting toward the armoire.

"Then Mme. Fairmonte arrived while we were waiting for her, so we came here to give them privacy to talk," Meg pipes up, skipping to Darius, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Christine rolls her eyes at Meg. "No, we are fine – do not trouble yourself," she says, tugging on his hand, pulling him back to her side. "Comte Phillippe, Inspector Marquand – we are sorry for interrupting."

Marquand stands, offering his seat on the beige settee to Meg. After some shuffling, Meg and Darius move to the sofa; Marquand takes Darius' seat; Phillippe and Nadir maintain their places.

"No doubt, Adele will arrive shortly and we may have to redo this game of musical chairs," Nadir says. "So Mme. Farimonte is visiting Adele?"

"Fairmonte – the name is familiar," Marquand says.

"The stage manager's wife," Nadir reminds him. "She is Firmin Richard's sister. The family is new money – he married well."

Phillippe frowns. "Is this significant?"

"Possibly – it depends upon on what she wants from Adele – and us," Erik says. "I am curious as to what she has to offer in return."

There is a faint knock on the door before it opens to reveal Adele. "Oh. My. This is quite an assemblage."

Nadir rises. "Come in, my dear, sit down."

Adele nods, her eyes flit over the faces following her with looks of welcome and expectation as she crosses the room to Nadir's welcoming hand. "I feel as though I have run a gantlet."

"Have no fear, my dear, Adele, we are all friends – just curious." Erik says. "We understand you had an unexpected visitor."

* * *

Leaving the window, where he has been keeping vigil – awaiting Christine's return, Erik puts on his mask and opens the front door.

"Thank you for escorting Madame home, Henri," he says, taking the packages the freckled, young man hands him. "Mme. Giry and Mlle. Meg are safely delivered as well?"

"Yes, Monsieur," Henri says. "Stephane remained in the carriage as I accompanied each lady to their door, making certain they were safely inside – as you directed."

Christine stands on tip-toe to give Erik a kiss on the cheek. "You take such good care of us," she says. "Henri and Stephane were perfect – despite the fact that they spent the better part of their day waiting on three chatty ladies."

"It was a pleasure, Mme. Christine," Henri says, ducking his head, grinning at her, his round cheeks flushed. "Both Stephane and I wish to thank you again for the new boots. You are most generous and we will take good care of them."

Erik quirks his visible brow, touching his mask.

"You are most welcome – it was the least I could do," she says, "Best you go home to your dinner, now. Good evening."

"Well, good evening, then." Doffing his cap, Henri rocks on his heels and with an awkward bow, returns to the lift.

Closing the door behind them, Erik remarks, "A pleasant young man – nice looking." He carries the results of Christine's shopping trip to the coffee table and sets them down. "He is smitten."

"That is silly." After unpinning her bonnet, she leaves it and her reticule in the foyer and follows him into the sitting room. "He is very sweet and thrilled to have such wonderful employment – he could not stop talking about you."

"I hardly believe that to be what was truly on his mind, but, will accept your word. Still, boots? For him and Stephane?"

"We visited that wonderful cordwainer shop, where the owner was so kind to us. He asked about the Erika, Andre's kitten – the momma is still there – I was sorry that Andre was not with us. Anyway, their boots were in simply horrid condition."

"I was expecting more packages – three of you enticing one another," he says as he walks into the kitchen.

"Our luncheon took up most of our time – so much to talk about, Madame Fairmonte, Reynald – you must fill me in on what happened in your meeting with Phillippe and Inspector Marquand. Anyway, time slipped away," she says.

Erik returns with a scissors and a large paper bag for the wrappings, finding Christine tearing into one large package revealing a smoking jacket of royal blue and emerald green paisley. "I liked the pattern and I think the colors suit you," she says, holding it up for him to see.

Erik flushes as he touches the fine silk fabric and the wide collar of royal blue velvet. "It is very handsome," he mutters, silently watching as she concentrates on her purchases – tearing the wrapping off of each package, littering the floor, oblivious to the scissors or trash bag he provided.

A box reveals a pair of deep blue slippers. "When we were at the shoemaker, I found these for you – they go well with the jacket, I think." Waving a handful of white linen in the air, she says, "Here are some handkerchiefs, but they cannot be used until I can embroider them with your monogram."

One be one, the contents of each parcel is emptied on the table. "There are stockings, a new nightshirt – the fabric is so soft – and a raspberry and silver foulard tie that might be too bold for your tastes, but I thought would look well with your new grey suit…"

Looking up from her treasures, she discovers Erik is no longer at her side. "Erik?" Getting up from the sofa, she walks to where he stands looking out at the street. Taking his arm, she asks, "Are you all right?"

Nodding, he presses his hand against hers.

"Look at me," she says, turning him around, removing his mask.

Tears well in his eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

"You spent your time buying things for me. You were supposed to shop for yourself."

"I have more pretty things than I shall ever need, my husband. This pregnancy has found me with at least twenty new gowns in the armoire," she laughs, stroking his cheek. "It was fun picking things out for you."

"You found it fun shopping for me?"

"Do you not enjoy buying me presents?"

"Mostly I worry whether you will like my choices or not."

"Has no one ever just bought you a gift for no reason?" Examining his face, she nods, wiping his tears away with her fingers. "Well, shame on them – all the more reason I should spoil you."

"The robe and slippers are perfect," he says, pulling her close. "Everything is perfect."

"Are you sure? You do tend to favor reds – I did purchase a red tie."

"The blue is just right."

"Might I have a smile, then?" She asks, cocking her head, tapping a finger against his lower lip.

The corner of his mouth curves almost imperceptibly.

"Hmmm, we must continue to work on it, but I commend your effort."

In spite of himself – he chuckles – quickly moving his hand to cover his deformity.

Christine removes his hand. "I love your smile."

"I love you."

"So you like your gifts?"

"I do. I like them very much – even the pink tie."

* * *

A/N:

*Adele's reaction to Gustave's death is the topic of the chapter The Gift of a Beggar in my story Gift Set here on FFN.


	10. Stirring the Pot

Stirring the Pot

"What are your plans for the day?" Erik asks Christine as he knots the new raspberry and silver tie.

"You are going to wear it?" Christine enters the bedroom, having completed her toilette. Donning a gauzy pale green morning dress, hair tied back with a satin bow, she sits down at her vanity to observe Erik as he completes putting together his ensemble.

"Of course, it is a wonderful shade of…red. In all actuality, the silver does dominate the stripe – the raspberry…is it?...merely adds a dash of color."

"It_ is_ pink – but it looked so elegant against the silver."

"I rather like it – it will take some interest away from the mask." Slipping on the gray frock coat, he turns to face her. "There – how do I look?"

"Quite dashing – you are only missing one thing." Getting up, she sorts through a stack of handkerchiefs on the shelf of the armoire. "Did you see the matching pocket square? Where is it – I know I put it here last night?" Turning back to him, eyes narrow. "Did you…"

"Um."

"Erik?"

Digging into his trouser pocket, he pulls out the square and stuffs it into the breast pocket of his suit.

"Perfect." Christine laughs, putting her arm through his as they exit into the hallway to the sitting room.

"So – today?"

"I shall be setting up the nursery."

Erik's visible eyebrow lifts as his cocks his head. "The room is empty."

Snuggling next to him, she say, "Remember your comment about how few purchases I made yesterday?"

"Deliveries are being made today?"

"Precisely."

Erik sits in one of the library chairs and pours a cup of tea for himself and Christine, who joins him in the other chair.

"Do you need help?"

"Meybel will be here. I asked if she could add a day and she arranged it with Francoise."

"Does Phillippe know any of this?"

"She needs the work – they do not use her every day – so this helps her…and us."

"But does Phillippe know?"

"He saw her here at your birthday party."

"So he does not know that we employ her on her days off."

"Is that a problem?"

"It might be awkward if he thinks his personal business is being discussed," Erik says, picking up a croissant and tearing off a piece. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

Bending his head, looking down his nose as he clears his throat.

Well, no…" Christine tears apart her own croissant. "There is nothing to discuss."

"How do you know?"

"I asked." She swallows her pastry, then takes a sip of tea, green eyes twinkling over the rim of the cup.

"Do you suppose she has repeated anything to them – what goes on here?"

"She does our laundry, Erik."

"I am not certain that he would want us to know too much of his and Raoul's personal business," Erik says. "Particularly after our meeting yesterday."

"What do you mean? You never really told me what was discussed – to be honest, I find all of this gambling business confusing."

* * *

_Despite their objections, the three woman were dispatched to shopping and luncheon. Their men left with Inspector Marquand and Count Phillippe to make sense of what first appeared to be the revenge murder of a cheating bet runner._

"_I think it might be a good idea if we sorted through the information we have so far," Erik said. "Try to find some order. At the moment we have cacophony. I am certain I am not the only one frustrated by it."_

"_There are certainly some conflicting elements here," Marquand said, pulling out his notepad. "Just to be certain everyone knows – the assault, theft, and murder are my primary concerns from an enforcement standpoint. Gambling is, and likely always will be, one of those crimes the government chooses to not find criminal._

"_That said, this is what I have on my list - feel free to fill in any blanks:_

"_1\. Assault of Reynald, ostensibly for switching fake coins for real by the new Opera Ghost. _

_2\. The theft of the Vicomte's cloak. _

_3\. The murder of Gregor who may have been mistaken for Reynald._

_4\. The body covered by the cloak._

_5\. Persian coins hidden in the cloak._

_6\. Playing cards – all Aces, likewise hidden in the cloak._

_7\. Reynald's wife, who is the sister to one of the Managers, comes to his defense."_

"_Let us not forget Alex – Monique's brother," Darius said. "He turned up just as all of this was beginning."_

"_My own brother's possible involvement has me concerned," Phillippe said. "Although, he tends to attract more trouble than he actually creates himself."_

_I feel comfortable in eliminating him as a murder suspect – leaving the cloak with the cards and coins is simply too obvious," Erik says. "This, as much as anything has me suspect Alex – but he seems too sly. His feelings toward Raoul are quite intense. Then again, he is an actor. I would like to know what Giselle may recall about the cloak."_

_Resting his arms on his knees, Phillippe presses his face into his hands. "I cannot answer for her, but Raoul was not wearing a cloak that night."_

"_What?" The four other men in the room exclaim in unison._

"_You were the one who told us what happened," Erik says._

"_He was so insistent that it had been stolen, I actually began to believe him," Phillippe said. "We were running late – he was anxious about something or another." Looking to the ceiling, his eyes narrowed and he sighed. "That has become the rule." He shook his head. "I paid no attention to his grumblings and I seldom pay attention to what he wears. Once we reached the theater, I went directly to our box – I do not know where he went."_

"_You did not think to say anything sooner?" Marquand asked._

"_I did not want to admit to myself that he could have harmed that man," he sighed. "After listening to Erik say it was unlikely Raoul would be so stupid, I was relieved."_

"_Well, I suppose we should thank M. Saint-Rien for that rationalization," Marquand said, putting an unlit cigar in his mouth. "I am not so certain – particularly now – with this information."_

_Phillippe's mouth dropped, the color leaving his face. "I was going to tell you in any event – Erik's comment simply made it easier." _

"_Edouard, let me hear your reasoning," Nadir said. "I am not so certain of his innocence either."_

"_I did not say he was innocent," Erik protested._

"_You are emotionally tied to the man, my friend – as is le Comte," Nadir's eyes, though warm, were direct and firm. "You call Alex 'sly' – Raoul has held his secrets – cards, if you will, close to his vest."_

"_His cloak was found covering the body of a dead man," Marquand said, waving the cigar._

"_A cloak we now know was not stolen," Nadir added._

"_So either he placed the cloak over the body or may know who did," Erik said, rubbing his cheek._

"_Then he is protecting someone – he is not a violent man," Phillippe argued, the blood returning to his face – his chin jutting out, lips a fine line cutting across his face._

"_I would beg to differ with that estimation, Phillippe," Erik said softly. "Your memory has become short, I fear."_

_Phillippe met Erik's gaze and nodded. "Of course, you are correct," he said, taking in a deep breath. "Now that we are discussing him and his behavior – I must admit I am concerned about Monique."_

"_Indeed?" Erik says, leaning forward. "Why?"_

"_A hunch – brotherly concern – what happened with Christine." He shrugged. "As you have all reminded me, Raoul is troubled. I believe his obsession with her is unhealthy. What I have observed of Alex only increases my concern."_

"_Do you think she would influence Raoul to do something destructive – to himself or someone else?" Erik asked, frowning._

_Phillippe pulled back, his eyes shifting from Erik to the Inspector, who sat tapping his pencil against his notebook. "I should not have mentioned it – I am just concerned about him."_

"_She saved my life, so I am somewhat partial to her and deeply grateful," Erik said, "but, as someone who has taken another's life, in whatever manner, for whatever reason, I can say, it changes you."_

"_Monique was changed before she shot Robert," Nadir said, getting up to pour himself a glass of water. "Anyone want refreshment – tea? Water? Brandy? No coffee, but I can send Andre."_

_A round of noes, has Nadir bringing his drink and the sugar bowl back to the desk, shuffling his note papers._

"_Meg told me she has been going out at night – after Raoul leaves," Darius said._

"_More information being held back?" Marquand sniggers._

"_I was not aware that Monique was a suspect – or that her coming and going would be an issue," Darius barked, his face flushed. _

_Marquand quirked an eyebrow._

"_Excuse me, Inspector, but Meg told me this because she was worried. I only mentioned it because others here are also worried."_

"_Alex again," Erik said. "Who else would she be going to see?"_

"_Unless something else points in her direction, I am going to leave Monique's nighttime jaunts off my list of concerns," Marquand said. "Anything else?"_

"_My list includes Harim, the Palace guard, meeting with Alex," Nadir said, biting on a sugar cube. "We know from Darius that gambling is likely going on at the café where they met. This, as we have discussed, is most concerning from a personal level. I do not believe in coincidences._

"_Nor, do I, daroga," Marquand said. "Too many years dealing with criminals."_

"_The problem, as I see it," Erik said, "is that we are speculating about everything and have no facts."_

"_True enough," Marquand agreed. "Reynald, for the moment, is both victim and possible conspirator. Alex, however, has met with the Persian – and is most likely a gambler – but is that related to the murder?"_

_Nadir tapped his pencil on his own set of notes. "Darius – I think you must return to the café to determine why Harim is here, and what the connection is to Alex."_

_Darius' breath caught in his throat, his pupils dilated. "Are you sure?"_

"_Yes – I have thought this through. Your reaction is based on what happened in the past – we are all fearful of that, but this is not Persia." Nadir faced the younger man, his eyes soft. "If he does remember you, it will not be in connection with Erik. The Shah, himself, suggested I bring you with me when I left. You are known at the café, so why should you not patronize them?"_

_Darius sighed and nodded. "Whatever you wish – I shall do my best."_

"_I am unclear as to what my role is in this," Phillippe said. "I am appreciative of being privy to the investigation – particularly where it involves Raoul, but what can I do to help?"_

"_Spy on Raoul," Erik said. "And, with all respect to you, Inspector…Monique."_

"_Well, that is an assignment I am not certain I can help with to any great extent," he said. "My brother does not seek out my company, much less my advice, but I shall do what I can. You mentioned Giselle earlier."_

"_Ask what she knows about the cloak, if anything," Erik said. "We plan to appoint her stage manager – partly because she deserves it, from an employment standpoint. Partly because I want her eyes on everything that is going on here at that Palais Garnier. If she has a legitimate role – other than working for Phantom Security, it provides her more cover."_

"_So she may be too busy for personal outings?" Phillippe smirked._

"_No more than the usual – I am in no position to regulate the personal lives of our staff."_

"_Fair enough," Phillippe laughed. "I can also check with some of my diplomatic contacts about our relationship with Persia and what may be happening in the community here from a political standpoint. It could explain the presence of this Harim person."_

"_Anything else?" Marquand asked the group_

"_Mme. Fairmonte's appearance piqued my interest," Erik said._

"_You do not believe she is concerned about her husband?" Marquand snickered._

"_You are beginning to know me," Erik said. "Adele did not either – judging from her report of their meeting. She and Veronique have been doing an audit on the finances of the opera house – as required by the State. I hope to have more information about that tomorrow."_

"_Alex?" Marquand asked. "Any idea how we can find out more about him?"_

"_Is he the new Opera Ghost, perhaps?" Erik said. "He is an enigma. For the moment, Raoul – and, therefore, you, Phillippe, might be our best route to knowing more about our redheaded dancing man."_

"_And the café," Darius interjected._

"_And the café," Erik agrees._

* * *

"Alex? Raoul and Monique? Oh, Erik," Christine says. "Perhaps Meybel can help. I can ask her."

"No, she has been through quite enough – better I deal with Phillippe and you not cost Meybel her job by gossiping."

"We could hire her, if that happened."

"Do you want her to live here?" Erik asks finishing his croissant.

"No, not particularly – although I do enjoy her company and help."

"Even when the baby comes?"

Christine cocks her head, her brow furrowed, lips pursed. "No, but maybe she could come more than once a week – for cleaning and such. I would find it odd to have a stranger living here."

"Was it strange when you stayed at the de Chagney house?" He takes a sip of his tea.

"I have not thought about that in so long – it was a different lifetime."

* * *

"_Mademoiselle, may I enter to assist you?"_

"_With what?"_

"_Dressing for the day, of course."_

"_I am already dressed."_

"_Oh, I am sorry I am late – I was not certain when you would rise."_

"_You need not help me dress – or undress."_

"_But it is my job."_

"_Strange job."_

"_I am simply following my instructions."_

"_Well, you may come morning and night, if those are your instructions. We can visit – but I shall dress and undress myself."_

"_Thank you."_

"_I have no wish to jeopardize your employment."_

* * *

"And all this time, I thought you needed my assistance removing your clothes."

"Silly man – another reason I should not want someone else living here."

"Then it is best that we leave things as they stand right now," he says, getting up, gathering the tea things to carry them to this kitchen. "What time do you expect the deliveries – I shall have Henri return to be here."

"The delivery men can handle the furniture," she says following him.

"I have no doubt – still, I prefer for you to…"

"Have protection."

"Yes." Erik puts the tray of dishes on the counter, turning to her.

"Even if he is smitten with me?" Christine smiles up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"All the more reason – perhaps you can direct his attention to Meybel – then I will rest easy about you not running off with him."

"That is a thought…about Meybel," she says, kissing him on his chin. "You are becoming quite the matchmaker."

The doorbell rings.

Walking back through the sitting room, Christine stands behind him as Erik opens the aperture to find Meybel and Henri smiling at him.

"Ah, we were just speaking of you," he says, opening the door. "Enter, please."

The tiny maid, holding her buff-colored skirt, curtsies to Erik, turning to Henri, she says, "It was nice to meet you." Then giggling, she holds onto her straw bonnet and skitters past Christine to the kitchen.

"You made quite an impression in the lift, Henri." Erik says, quirking an eyebrow at Christine. "I may actually have reason to be concerned – Henri seems to have a way with women."

The sandy-haired young man, wrinkles his brow and scratches his head under his cap. "I do not know what I said to put her off like that."

"You did not put her off – she likes you," Christine says. "That is how girls act when they meet someone they find appealing."

"If you say so, Madame," he says. "Are you ready to leave, Monsieur?"

"Yes, are you alone today or is Stephane with you?"

"Actually, he is waiting downstairs. M. and Mme. Khan left very early this morning – so both carriages were not needed – he dropped them off and came to my house to pick me up."

"Excellent. Madame Christine is expecting the delivery of some furniture today and I hoped you could both assist her and Meybel – as well as keeping watch on the household."

"As you wish, Monsieur, I will be pleased to help in any way I can."

Erik turns to Christine. "So we are set." Bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek, he grabs his new dark grey bowler hat in and sets it carefully on his head, tipping it slightly over his, also new, flesh colored mask.

"You look so dapper."

"Somehow I fear Nadir will find me comical – and say so."

* * *

Erik knocks lightly on the door before entering Adele's office. "Am I disturbing you?"

Adele looks up from the ledger she is working on with Veronique. Stretching, she says, "Yes, thankfully so." Her dark eyes examine him from head to toe. "I see you are donning your new clothing."

"And?"

"Christine was correct – the color suits you. I was not sure you would agree to wear what both of us consider bold, I have to say, but you give me hope," she chuckles.

"For you or for me?" He removes his hat and sits down on the chaise.

Taking Adele's lead, Veronique stands up, leaving her pencil on the desk to massage her back. "Good morning, M. Saint-Rien. Would you care for some tea? I was going to freshen up our pot just now."

"Yes, thank you," he responds. "What time did you arrive this morning?"

"Early – too early," Adele says. "I wanted to get these books in order to show you and Nadir. I had a lovely holiday yesterday, but was not able to complete what I started when Genevieve stopped by."

"Is it serious?"

"I am afraid so, Monsieur," Veronique answers. "There are paid invoices for many purchased items, but shortages in areas that do not get much attention – cleaning supplies, make-up, fabrics – a little here, a little there, but adding up to a sizeable amount."

"Is this something under Reynald's control?"

"Not necessarily – he has access and does some purchasing – the issue is more with the Managers – before Madame Giry took over, the Managers kept the books."

"So Mme. Genevieve Fairmonte was not here about her husband, but her brother?"

"Quite so – or, at least, it appears that way. I would not swear to it, though."

"My money or the State's – I assume the shortages are not coming from their investment?"

"In a way, they are. They put in their contracted sum each month, and it is used to pay the bills – as always. The problem are these excessively high and unusual invoices. The largest amount, however, is in the payroll." Adele holds up the journal sheets. "There are payroll items for people we cannot identify – this affects the allocation from the State."

"Is this recent?"

"It appears to have begun when they took over."

"I have spoken to them about it, but…" Adele says.

"Yes, money is always difficult to discuss even when people are honest."

"There are rumors among the crew that M. Richard let his coachman go – he and M. Moncharmin ride together now." Veronique says, bringing the tea and some cookies to the desk.

"I am sorry this was not discovered sooner – the new show."

Erik waves off the apology. "As you said, this appears to be something very subtle. Embezzlement is a quiet crime and often takes a while to notice." He sits down on the chaise with his tea, taking a sip. "Ah, a good strong Ceylon." Sitting back and crossing his legs, he asks, "So how do you plan to use our stage manager to resolve these differences?

"He will be doing inventory. He is going to count everything in this building."

Erik chuckles. "No time for running his errands or sneaking nips during the day."

"Exactly," Veronique says. "He must report to me twice a day."

"Nadir and I have agreed that Giselle is to be the new stage manager – I do not know why we did not consider this sooner."

"She is agreeable?"

"Very – the idea of being in control appeals to her greatly – she was always fussing about the crew – now she can do something about them…and do her security work."

Do you suppose it has anything to do with the gambling issue here at the Palais?"

"We will not know for a while. He used to have free rein – now he must work in specific areas. We will watch who he comes in contact with.

"And the managers?"

"I suspect Genevieve will be visiting again."

* * *

Phillippe settles into his leather chair and prepares a cigar. The sound of the front door slamming shut, has him jump to his feet, rushing into the hallway. "Raoul?"

"Phillippe?" The Vicomte turns to face his brother. "What?"

"Could we talk?"

"We could – I am not certain I will be saying anything you care to hear."

"Please."

With a deep sigh, Raoul follows Phillippe into his den, closing the door behind him. "May I have a whiskey – or am I not allowed to drink alcohol due to my childish behavior?" He pours a splash of amber liquor into a small glass, carrying it to the sofa and flops down, holding his arm out to prevent spilling his drink. "And not a drop wasted."

"Were you with Monique today?"

"Yes, if you can call watching her dance being with her – however, I do have news."

"Good, I hope."

Raoul quirks an eyebrow. "I am not sure what_ you_ would consider good news."

Phillippe rolls his eyes. "Despite your belief to the contrary, I do love you and want you to be happy," he says. "Tell me your news…please."

"Monique has agreed to come back here to live," Raoul chuckles, looking up at Phillippe from under lowered lids.

"Seriously?" Phillippe smiles, drawing on his cigar, blowing out a circle of smoke.

The chuckle develops into a full-blown laugh, as Raoul nods his head vigorously. "I am in shock."

"Tell me more, if you will."

* * *

"_Please come in – Meg has gone out for the day with her mother and Christine," Monique said holding the door open._

"_I was not certain I would be welcome."_

"_Indeed – why?"_

"_You have been…well, not anxious to be with me since Alex returned to your life."_

"_We were apart for a long time."_

"_I understand – or I have tried to understand. He seems to despise me for all that."_

"_Oh, Alex, is just a jokester – I would not take too much of what he says seriously."_

"_Will you still wish to see me once you move in with him?"_

"_As it turns out – he is quite happy with his lodgings, so I wondered if your offer was still open…about moving back to your home."_

"_Truly – you wish to live with me – in your own quarters, of course, but in my house."_

_Monique nods. "I do love you, Raoul – I am sorry you doubted that for even a moment because of Alex."_

"_When do you wish to move house?'_

"_Perhaps tomorrow – I only have my clothing, but I would like to tell Meg. She and Madame have been most kind."_

* * *

Alex, dressed in, yet again, another plaid suit – this one in shades of grey – more subdued than his usual choice of colors. He watches as the cab pulls away from Monique's apartment building. Stepping out from the doorway of the adjacent building, he waves at the figure in the window.

In moments, Monique exits the doorway, her pale blue cambric dress seeming to flow despite the stays and bustle, and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheek.

"You told him?"

"Yes."

"There was no problem – he accepted what you said."

"Raoul always accepts what I say. He loves me." Taking his arm, they begin to walk.

"Does he believe that you love him?"

"Why would he not? I do love him. I am happy I will be living with him."

"You confuse me, sister."

"I am safe with Raoul – that means you will be safe. It is much better this way."

"What if he wants to…"

"What? Make love to me?

Alex stops. "I do not understand."

"We are already intimate. What is there to understand?"

"But – what M. Robert did to you…"

"I killed him – M. Robert no longer exists," she says, looking out at the street. "So there is no need for your concern, Alex." Picking up the pace, she begins running down the street.

He quickly catches up to her, taking her arm. "You killed him? You did not tell me that."

"With Raoul's gun. In the back of the head. The shooting lessons we had as children served me well."

"I do not know you."

"No, you do not – not all of me," she snaps. "The difference between you and Raoul is he is fine with me however I am. I could be silent for a week and he would still be there for me."

"I did not leave because I did not care about you."

"But you left, nonetheless." Removing his hand from her arm, keeping it in hers, she starts to walk again. "Come, brother – let us have some dinner and enjoy our time together. You can tell me about your meeting with the Persian."

* * *

"Darius," the café owner says, his face breaking into a big smile when the younger man enters the café, holding his arm out as he walks to grab him around the shoulders. "Where have you been keeping yourself – we have missed you."

Shrinking from the unexpected touch, Darius steps back, looking around the moderately crowded room at the different groups of men, playing table games and drinking coffee. No one appears to have noticed his arrival or Massoud's greeting. "I am surprised you noticed my absence."

"Hardly that, my friend," Massoud says. "You are one of our best players – without you, the challenge has diminished for many."

"How so?"

The elder man, raises an eyebrow. "You do not know?"

"I come here for entertainment – to play and challenge my mind and my skills."

"You are an innocent, then," he says. "I suspected as much, but now you confirm my suspicions."

"I am still confused," Darius says.

"Do not concern yourself with my mutterings. Are you interested in playing tonight?" Massoud asks, walking Darius to the bar, indicating he sit down. "Coffee?" he asks, as he walks around to serve him.

"Yes – I have not enjoyed a good cup of coffee in some time."

"Tea, tea, tea – am I correct?" Massoud laughs, putting the demi-tasse in front of Darius with a plate of walnut cookies. "A former member of the Shah's household arrived recently from Persia."

"Indeed?"

"Do I recall you saying you once worked at the Palace?"

"No."

Massoud frowns.

"I did not serve the Shah in Teheran – my place was in Mazandaran."

With a sigh, the man's forehead smooths. "You may yet be acquainted. His name is Harim."

"The name is familiar to me."

"Excellent – he will be playing tonight."

Darius nods. "A game would be entertaining. As you say, it has been a while."

* * *

The sitting room is lit by the setting sun casting golden streams of light across the Aubusson carpets. Erik closes the door quietly behind him, removing his hat and mask – leaving them on a shelf in the armoire – he takes off his jacket, hanging it on a hook.

At first glance, the room appears to be unoccupied, but looking closely, he sees Christine leaning into a corner of the sofa, an embroidery hoop in her lap, a threaded needle half in, half out of a white linen handkerchief. Her full lips are open as she breathes the song of her dream.

As happens every time he sees her, particularly after being away – even for the shortest amount of time – his heart hitches and he is mildly amazed she is part of his life. Which of them is the dreamer?

Aware of his presence, the soft lips curve into a smile. "I must have fallen asleep." Slowly opening her eyes, she looks down at her lap and comments, "In mid-stitch at that." Sitting up straight, she puts her needlework on the coffee table and opens her arms. "Have you solved the crime yet?"

Joining her on the settee, he accepts her hug, kissing her on the forehead and says, "Today we had our individual tasks and the pot is being stirred."

"Your task?"

"Our managers appear to be embezzlers," he says. "How this fits into the gambling, if it does at all, I do not know." Resting his head against the back of the sofa, he laughs. "Ironically, my demand for 20,000 francs a month may have driven them to steal."

"But you paid the money back."

"Still..." he says, "On the positive side, if the only issue was money – that can be resolved fairly easily."

"You told me Genevieve was frightened, particularly insisting Reynald be kept on."

"So it is more than the French government we need be concerned about." Standing up, he offers his hand. "Let me see what magic you have created in our baby's room. I have need for some lightness and beauty."

The doorbell brings them to a halt.

Christine's brow furrows, "Who might that be?"

"A fellow pot stirrer, I imagine – sooner than expected." Erik sighs, patting her hand. "I am sorry."


	11. Deal the Cards

Deal the Cards

Christine hangs back as Erik opens the door to Nadir, Adele and Meg. "You are earlier than I expected."

"Should we leave and come back?" Nadir asks. "Our order was prepared more quickly than anticipated." Holding up several boxes for Erik to see, he walks past him and Christine through the sitting room into the dining room. "We should eat this while it is still hot, then be off."

"Off?" Christine asks, walking to Adele and Meg, giving them each a hug. "Erik, what is going on?"

"He did not tell you?" Adele asks, frowning at Erik, taking her arm, walking her into the sitting room. The sound of crockery and silver clattering comes from the next room. "You sit down, I shall assist Nadir with the food."

"I did not have time – you are here earlier than I expected – as I just said."

"Darius is going to the cafe," Meg says, following them into the sitting room, flopping down on the coral chaise.

"Where this Harim person is supposed to be?"

"Yes."

"Why did you not say something?"

"I planned to while you showed me the nursery," he says, picking up the needlework, moving it to the library area, then sits down next to her, taking her hand.

"Nursery?" Meg exclaims. "You have decorated the nursery."

Christine mouths "not now" at Meg, before returning her attention to Erik. "Go on."

"Nadir agreed to bring Adele and Meg over – with supper – so that you would not be here alone when he and I went to keep watch over Darius," Erik says in a rush. "Now is everyone happy – I told her?"

"Yes," Adele calls out from the other room.

"You – are you all right with this?" He asks.

"I would not want Darius to be without support – of course, I am all right with this." Christine brushes her hand over his cheek.

"I am sorry I did not say anything when I first arrived home – I wanted a few moments with you before going out again. We did not have much time together today."

Nadir sticks his head out the door of the dining room. "The table is set. The food is served. Let us have our dinner in some sort of civilized fashion, shall we?"

* * *

"Reynald, my man, what is keeping you?" Alex says, pounding his fist on the windowsill of the stage manager's office. "I do not have time to dawdle."

Giselle looks up from the register of crew members, dancers, and singers, she has been studying. Her black hair is pulled back into a pony-tail, an engineer's cap pulled down on her forehead. The blue cambric shirt and tan breeches, brown stockings and boots her work uniform – worn as much for comfort as convenience. "Baron, how may I help you? Reynald is not here."

Nonplussed, Alex takes a moment to regain his composure. "Alex, please," he says, "I was looking for Reynald – I thought he would be working."

"He is," she says. "At the moment he assisting with the inventory of the theater." Checking the clock on the wall behind her, she says, "I am afraid he is scheduled to work at least another hour before he will finished with his duties."

"He is no longer the stage manager?"

"No – that position rests with me now."

"Indeed – that is a promotion, is it not? You must be overwhelmed."

"Despite my work in helping to create the review and knowing everyone involved, I must say that actually being responsible for the smooth running of the production is a challenge, though hardly overwhelming," she says with a smirk, leaning back in her chair. "I could say the same for you, coming into an existing production and being expected to perform at a par with the others in the cast."

"Oh, I am a quick study," Alex chuckles, doing a shuffle, ball, change tap movement.

"Yes, some would say mercurial – a changeling."

"Indeed – you think me a fairy child – how fascinating." His laugh is high-pitched, but like his smile, doesn't touch the deep blue eyes.

"You come and go, flitting from place to place – one wonders if you are real or just a figment of our imaginations."

"I shall take that as a compliment," he says, leaning his chin on his fist.

"However you wish."

"You are le Comte's paramour?"

Giselle is at first startled, but laughs. "You do seem rather fixated on my association with Comte Phillippe. Was that what you wished to see Reynald about – his personal involvements?"

"You misunderstand me – I thought we were having a friendly conversation – a little tit for tat."

"Is that so – _I_ thought _you _were being supercilious."

Unconcerned by her response, he continues, "So you are educated?"

"Are you surprised? Someone so clever – I would suspect you might give more credit to women – Monique being your sister. She is quite knowledgeable."

"She was schooled with me."

"So she told us."

"You know her well?"

"Moderately well – enough to admire her grit and talent. Enough to know that I am still concerned about the trauma she experienced. Enough to be curious about your reappearance in her life."

"I am her brother – her twin brother – we have a deep bond." He removes his bowler hat and twirls it on one hand – deftly tossing it to the other and back again. "How much do you know about what happened to her?"

"How much do _you _know is more the question?" Giselle responds. "I suggest you ask her – it is not my place."

"Answer me this at least: did she kill the man who abducted her? That is what she told me."

Giselle nods.

"You were there?"

"I was attempting to stop him from shooting M. Erik. Monique shot before I could reach him," she says. "It happened just over there." She points toward the stage.

His eyes follow the direction of her finger. "She saved Erik's life?"

"Yes."

His early concern vanishes as quickly as it appeared, Alex smirks. "So he feels indebted to her."

"I would imagine he does," she says, leaning forward, folding her hands on her desk. "While this verbal sparring has been amusing, I really must return to my work – what was it you required of Reynald? Perhaps, I can help you."

"Ah, yes, Reynald. Nothing much really – he was to replace my dressing room key."

"You do not have one?"

"I lost it."

"Quite a bit of that going around – lost keys." Checking the roster, she locates the number in the box holding the keys for the offices and dressing rooms. "It appears there are no keys at all for that dressing room. You just had the one?"

"As I said, I lost it."

"Then the other is missing as well – I must change the lock, but cannot do it right now. It will have to wait until tomorrow."

"But my things are in that room," he says.

"There is no performance tonight."

"Personal things."

Sighing, she checks the register and writes in Alex's name – pulling one of two keys from the board, she hands it to him and gets up.

"This will be your new dressing room – I will accompany you to your old room and open it for you."

"So Reynald will no longer be in this office?" he asks as they walk down the hallway.

"Correct." They reach the door and Giselle opens it for him with a key from her chatelaine.

"I shall be fine now – I can manage this by myself."

"I must lock the door once you leave – rules," she smirks, leaning against the door jamb, watching as he clears his dressing table and the contents of the armoire into a black duffel. A second blue one, seemingly as full, is retrieved from under his dressing table.

Opening it, briefly checking the contents, he lifts both valises. "I believe that is everything," he says, giving the room a once over before entering the hall.

"Your new space is farther down," she says, locking the door. "If there is nothing else…"

"I heard a rumor that there are secret panels in some of these rooms – installed by the Opera Ghost."

Giselle turns to face him. "Yes, one of many rumors that continue to swirl around. I think you will find the regular door sufficient for your needs while you are employed here."

"Nothing wrong with being concerned, is there?" he asks. "I should not like any surprise visits from a specter."

"Care killed the cat, or so the saying goes, I should not worry," she responds. "If there is nothing else, I shall bid you adieu." Turning on her heel, she returns to the stage and her office.

"Adieu," he responds to the empty air. Assuring the door is locked, he unpacks the blue duffel.

* * *

Working in silence, the three women finish clearing the dining room and washing the dishes.

"I do not know about you, but I am nervous and need to be busy," Meg says. "This quiet is annoying me. Can we at least look at the nursery?"

"Of course," Christine says, leading them down the hallway to the door at the far end. "It may take our minds off our anxiety." Opening the door, she turns on the small porcelain lamp, hand-painted with a pink rose that sits on a white bookcase.

Adele and Meg follow her – taking in the room, wall-papered in silver and pale green. All the furniture is white, appointed with fabrics in varying tones of the same green as the flocked paper.

"Everything we saw in the store looks lovely in here," Adele says. "Your vision was perfect."

"No pink, other than the lamp?" Meg asks.

"While I believe the little one will be a girl," Christine says, patting her stomach, "I did not wish to force any colors. The rest of the flat is decorated in greens, so I simply continued the color in here." Walking to the armoire, she opens it. "However…"

Meg's eyes light up at the assortment of tiny dresses in various shades of pink. Picking through them, she pulls out a dress of pale pink lace and satin ribbons. "This is adorable."

"There is a bonnet to match," Christine chortles.

"What did Erik think of the room?" Adele asks, sitting down in the bentwood rocking chair – the only piece of furniture unpainted, the wood stained to match the wicker seat and back – lifting the multi-colored afghan draped on the back, placing it on her lap.

"Unfortunately, your arrival prevented him from seeing it," she says, sitting down on a small settee, patting the seat for Meg to join her. "There will be time when he returns home."

The silence of the kitchen returns. Each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Meg bounces back to her feet, pacing the floor. "I cannot stand this."

"Meg, your outburst is not going to make anything better," Adele says. "This is not easy for any of us."

"At least Erik and Nadir are not the ones in danger," Meg says. "I do not know why Darius has to be the one who must go into the café."

"He is known there," Adele says.

"He is afraid – no one seems to care that he is afraid," she cries. "I am afraid."

"Erik and Nadir will not let anything happen to him," Christine says. "Darius agreed to go."

"He is a gentle man – not like Uncle Erik."

"Meg!"

"No, let her talk, Adele," Christine says, holding up her hand. "She is frightened. We all are."

Meg continues her pacing, chewing on her thumbnail. "What I said is not entirely true – he is very much like Uncle Erik in some ways – I am sorry I said what I did, Christine," she finally says.

Christine and Adele focus on her, cocking their heads, waiting for her to continue.

* * *

"I still think it is a mistake exposing yourself," Erik, returning to his customary black tails, matching those of Nadir's – he in his cavalier hat, Nadir in a black astrakhan, asks as they weave through the foot traffic along the Rue de Rivoli.

"Look who is talking about exposure," Nadir says, picking up his pace to keep pace with Erik's longer strike. "Are you walking normally or simply unaware that you will soon be running at this pace?"

"What? Oh, I am sorry, old man – a habit – walking with another person is still new to me," he says, slowing down. "In other times, I would be moving in and out of the shadows, which would present even greater problems for you." He cocks an eye at Nadir's stomach.

"Very funny…what about Christine?"

"She generally holds onto my arm, so that helps slow me down somewhat." Erik stops, taking Nadir's elbow. "I am serious. Henri is monitoring the alley with Stephane."

"No one will be inside with him," Nadir says.

"But it may raise suspicion."

Nadir's face might be set in stone as he tries to push past Erik, continuing their trek up the street. "Maghrib prayer will be over soon, then people will begin arriving."

"And you wish to be first – calling even more attention to yourself," Erik says. "We can see him from here." Erik grips Nadir's arm again, this time with no intention of releasing him. "Look, there is Officer Fremed – nothing untoward is going on."

Nadir attempts to free himself.

"Hear me out."

The demand is met with a glares at him, but relaxes his stance. "What?"

"Harim may not even recognize Darius – but he will know you."

"Good – put the fear of Allah in him."

Erik rolls his eyes. "And what would that serve?"

Nadir shrugs, refusing to look at Erik, focusing his attention on the street beyond his shoulder.

"Think back on how Darius came to be in Persia."

* * *

"_Where did you get these scars?" Meg asked, running her fingers across Darius' shoulders and back. They are of varied lengths and thickness, some red, others white, smooth and ragged._

"_Albania, my home country – then Persia."_

"_You were whipped?"_

"_Whipped, flogged, flayed – depending upon the master and the level of perceived misbehavior."_

_Tears flowed down her cheeks before she was aware she was crying. "My God."_

"_Very much like your God." His laugh was bitter._

"_You were a child."_

"_I was a slave."_

"_You said Albania."_

"_Slave traders came to Albania for boys to castrate – to make into eunuchs – girls to serve in other ways."_

"_Why? Could not just find boys in Persia?"_

"_Castration is forbidden in Islam."_

"_But you are Muslim."_

"_My father told the slave traders we were Christian – our village was made up of both Muslims and Christians."_

_Meg frowns. "I do not understand."_

"_He needed the money to pay the taxes on his land."_

"_He sold you?"_

"_Yes – and my sister."_

"_You have a sister?"_

"_No longer."_

"_What happened?"_

"_I poisoned her."_

"_What?"Meg drew back, sharply, almost stumbling in her shock._

"_I killed her to save her from what they would do to her."_

"_Your father?"_

"_The traders beat him for trying to sell them a sick child. He was fortunate they still paid for me."_

_Meg returned to the bed, sitting down next to him. "Was there anyone who hurt you more than any other?"_

"_One master called Harim."_

"_He beat you often?"_

"_No – only once – when I first served under him."_

"_What had you done?"_

"_Nothing – it was a warning. The fear was enough. I was well trained."_

* * *

"So you think Harim may not be Muslim at all?" Nadir asks.

"Or, like Darius, Muslim with a nefarious father who cared more for his land than his children. Either way, if Harim recognizes Darius, he will keep it to himself– for it would reveal his own circumstances. I am certain the owner of the café is unaware Harim is a eunuch."

"That might put Darius in more danger," Nadir says. Sighing deeply, he searches Erik's amber eyes burning into him.

"Are you certain you should be participating at all?"

"I would go mad waiting with the women – however, lovely and fascinating they may be."

"Then take hold of your fears and put them aside," Erik commands. "I can and will incapacitate you. At the moment, you are a hindrance and may cause more harm than good."

Nadir draws back at the accusation – his face flushing, eyes darkening. "I was the daroga of Mazandaran and I disobeyed the Shah of Persia risking my own life to save you. I dare you try to incapacitate me."

"Good – you have found yourself," Erik sniggers. "The hunt always stirs the blood."

"Connard."

"Hmmm. Come, let us find our café, I see the establishment of interest is welcoming patrons."

* * *

"You returned," Massoud says, resting a hand lightly on Darius' shoulder.

"I said I would – although I am still curious as to why you feel my presence is so special."

"Your solemn face is a gift – I have watched you play all these games and listen to the political discussions – your face never changes."

Darius gazes at the middle-aged man from the corner of his eye. His black beard, shot with white, hangs down to his chest, full lips smiling wide to expose teeth browned by a habit of chewing coffee beans – one of which he pops into his mouth, crunching loudly as he guides Darius through the room – quickly filling with customers.

"You see – I tell you something about yourself and you have no reaction. Are you happy? Are you sad?"

"It is who I am."

"Exactly that." Waving his fingers, he draws Darius from the main room through a curtain of strung beads.

Darius hesitates. "Where are we going?"

"A private room. Do not worry – an associate and I wish to make a proposition."

"About what?"

"Playing for sport."

"That is haram," Darius says.

"You need not participate in any financial dealings – you need only play the game as you have in the past. Make your stakes using fake coins – a private investor covers your stakes and wins or loses based on how you play."

"I do not understand."

"Someone who enjoys the game, but, shall we say, does not have the gift of winning."

"Why would someone do that – why would another player allow that?"

"To be part of the excitement…and the money."

"I am not sure…"

"You need only play As Nas to the best of your ability."

Patting Darius on the back, he says, "Do not worry yourself about the finances or the concerns of the other players."

Massoud opens the door to a small room with a table surrounded by five chairs. Along one wall sits a sofa, on the other hangs a large mirror.

Darius scans the room. "Hardly friendly to observers."

"This is just for your meeting – we will move to another, larger room when the other players arrive."

The words are no sooner out of his mouth, but the door opens and Harim enters. Tall as Darius, but, what once was muscle, appears to be fat – he is larger than he appeared from the street. The curse of castration. Nevertheless, his former master was an imposing man – eyes the color of the coffee beans Massoud pops into his mouth. His face is cherubic – absent a beard, lips full and pink.

"So this is the young master of games." he says in Farsi. The voice, though pitched higher than one might expect from a man of such a great size, still commands the room.

Practice and many years of giving orders, Darius suspects – dealing with the same issue himself_. _"I am Darius," he replies. "Whether I am a master is yet to be seen – I enjoy playing games."

"You do not speak Farsi?"

"This is my home now, although if you wish to speak in the language of Persia, I would be comfortable with that."

"Fair enough – I should better my language skills," Harim takes a seat at the table, indicating Darius do the same. "I will likely shift back and forth between the two," he chuckles.

"Excuse me," Massoud says, "I will see if our other players and observers have arrived."

"You appear older than the other students who haunt this place," Harim says, picking up the deck of cards that sit at the center of the table.

"I am not a student."

Harim smiles. "You worked for the Shah." It is not a question. "You have the bearing. When Massoud spoke of you, I suspected as much. Beaten to not show emotion." The dark eyes narrow, an eyebrow quirks. "By me, perhaps?"

"I served at Mazandaran."

"You were released from service?"

Darius nods.

"I see you are not one for small talk," he says. "I, too, was released from service." His resulting laugh is unexpected and loud. "We are brothers under the skin. Released from service." The joke brings tears to his eyes and he starts to choke.

Darius rises from his chair to assist the older man, slapping him on the back, until he contains himself, then returns to his seat.

"Thank you – I find the idea of the Shah's generosity to be amusing," Harim says. "I shall not question you further – we are all entitled to our secrets."

Massoud returns. "Shall we join the others? There is a modest group tonight – only 2 tables."

"That is fine," Harim says. "Darius can meet our other players."

"Some of the regulars are absent."

"Is our Vicomte here?"

"Nobility?"

"A reaction?" Massoud chuckles. "They are the most interested in what we provide – they are always bored."

"You served the Shah, my young friend, you, of all people, should know about the entertainment needs of nobles." Hasim joins in Massoud's amusement. "Come let us play cards."

* * *

Save for intermittent light from the rear windows of the coffee houses, the alleyway is dark. As with the modulation of light, the noise shifts from complete stillness, to the sound of dripping water, to music and laughter. Although not heavily populated, there is enough foot traffic for Henri and Stephane to blend into those who are looking for shelter in the doorways of closed shops or scraps of food in the trash bins vying with the rats scattering under their feet.

One doorway in particular seems to be particularly active – not waiters coming and going – men dressed conservatively, with an indication of money about their garb, however plain. They move cautiously, not wishing to dirty themselves – taking no notice, however, of the people around them. Each knocks lightly on the door, then rush to enter once the door has been opened.

Henri nods to Stephane and they take up stations a several meters away from the door and wait. As quickly as it appeared, the stream of men stops, until one more figure dressed in black carrying a duffle bag appears – running, taking no notice of the environment surrounding him.

Henri, picking through the garbage bin he stands next to alerts the man to his presence. He slows, but continues past – stopping only when he reaches the door, taking measure of Stephane, leaning against the wall further down the alley.

Stephane takes a swig from the bottle he carries, wipes his mouth and tosses it on a trash pile. Relieving himself on the wall, he staggers off, muttering to himself.

Henri slides to the ground, slumping against the wall, pushing bits of bread hungrily into his mouth.

Satisfied, he is not being watched, Alex raps once on the door and is allowed in.

* * *

Monique ruffles her hair, still mussed and flattened from sleep, a blue dressing gown falls from her shoulders, the belt loosely tied around her slim waist. "Who is there?"

"Raoul – are you all right?"

She disarms the alarm and opens the door. "What are you doing here? This is your night away."

"I thought you said today would be a good time for you to move," Raoul says, as Monique opens the door for him.

"Please do not be upset, my love, I was deeply fatigued and fear I slept most of the day away – it did not seem to matter," she says. "Even now, I wish to return to my bed. Madame and Meg were gone and I cannot remember a time when I had so much time to myself alone – safely alone."

"Do you regret your decision?" Raoul asks.

Taking his hand, she walks him to the settee, "No, not at all – can we not do it another day?" Looking away from him, she wipes the tears forming in her eyes.

"What is wrong – Monique, please tell me – you never tell me what you are thinking – if you are in pain."

"It is always so busy – always someone around – everyone wondering if I am all right."

"I…we care about you."

"Sometimes I just wish to be left to myself. Strange as it may sound – there were times, especially near the end of the time with M. Robert, I enjoyed the quiet of the house – being solitary. I seldom saw him and was alone."

"Would you wish for me to leave?"

"No." Touching his cheek with her hand, she rubs her thumb over his eyebrows, "So perfectly formed – your face is quite exquisite, you know? Men should not have such beauty."

"You are the beauty."

"No – no, I am not. I am unique and interesting. I am also quite mad," she says, standing to face him. "You should really run away from me instead of inviting me to live with you."

"That is ridiculous," he stands, placing his hands on her arms. "I want to marry you and spend my life with you."

"Hold me, please. Tightly."

Folding his arms around her, he gathers her close, burying his head against her neck.

Holding his head in both her hands, she presses her lips against his waves of blond hair, breathing in his scent. "Kiss me. Love me."

"What of Madame and Meg? What if they come while we are…?"

"Meg said they would be visiting with Christine."

Raoul straightens, loosening his embrace. "Not Christine _and_ _Erik_?"

Monique cocks her head at him. "I do not recall – does it matter – do they matter, still?" Her kisses feather his face – she unties his cravat, loosening the buttons of his shirt. "Make love to me, Raoul. Make love to your crazy mistress."

"No, they do not matter. Forgive me," he mumbles. "I would be a fool to refuse the woman I love."

"The woman who loves you – I do, truly I do."

* * *

Stephane darts back and forth in front of the café where Erik and Nadir told him they would be, trying to locate them among the other patrons.

Nadir stands, motioning to him from the table they have taken in a far corner – out of the light and view of passersby.

"Messrs. Erik and Nadir." Stephane bends over, holding his knees to catch his breath.

"Stephane, what is it? What happened?" Erik asks. "Has something happened to Darius?"

"No, but Alex is at the café."

"The back door?" Nadir asks.

He nods, longish dark hair falling over his eyes. "A number of people arrived – he seemed to be late." Even in the dim light of the street lamps, his work clothes appear dirty and inappropriate to the restaurant.

The waiter approaches, raising an eyebrow, examining Stephane from head to toe. "No begging. Please leave the premises. Now."

"It is all right," Erik says. "This is my coachman. It would seem our carriage required repairs."

The waiter nods and leaves.

"If the food service was only as efficient," Nadir smirks. "It would seem that your costume is a success. What else can you tell us?"

"He was dressed in black – carrying a valise of some sort – the only reason I noticed him was the movement."

"Did he appear to identify you at all?" Erik asks.

"He noticed both of us, but we put him off – that is why I am here – I had to leave, but stopped at the end of the alley. He had gone."

"Good work," Nadir says. "Best get back." He holds up a plate with a piece of chocolate cake on it.

Stephane grabs the treat, then runs back into the street disappearing into the night.

"Alex," Erik says.

"Alex."

Erik rises from his seat, tossing his napkin onto his plate.

"Where are you going?" Nadir asks, grabbing his arm.

"I have to follow him."

"Sit down," Nadir hisses, looking around them at the patrons who are starting to notice them. "Which of us is now being rash?"

Erik concedes, pulling his arm away, shooting his cuffs and straightening his tie after returning to his seat.

"Where do you suppose you are going to follow him to?" Nadir asks, pouring another cup of tea for both of them. "We determined it was best he not suspect he is being followed. It is enough he had doubts about Stephane's presence."

"I feel useless sitting here – we should have brought the ladies for all the investigating we are doing."

"Is my company so unappealing?" Nadir chuckles.

"You need to ask?"

"They will not play for long – the sky is darkening and it will soon be time for prayers."

"Strange the playing does not last long, but I suppose one can lose great sums in short periods of time."

"One hand is often enough."

* * *

"We should learn to play this card game," Christine says, leading Adele and Meg back into the dining room. "I, too, find this waiting both nerve wracking and tiresome."

"I am not certain I can sit still or concentrate," Meg says, already beginning to pace the room, picking at her hair.

"Meg, please sit down – you are making all of us more nervous than we need be."

"Darius may be in danger."

"Everything possible is being done to prevent that," Christine says. "He is doing his job – just as the others are doing their jobs."

"Well, I do not like it."

Christine grabs her and shakes her. "Stop it – stop making this about you."

Meg falls back away from her. "What are you talking about?"

"You do this all the time – creating your little dramas. God forbid anyone else should be happy or sad or concerned. It always comes back to you and how you feel."

* * *

"_Maman, I thought you were going to buy me some new ribbons for my hair, since I have to wear these awful braids."_

"_Christine asked for a small loan, you must wait."_

"_I am knitting a sweater for the stage manager. It will be finished soon – by the end of the week."_

"_But I need the ribbons."_

"_Here, take these – I shall not need them. I can use my old ribbons."_

"_They are blue."_

"_Marguerite, you will use your old ribbons. Those were a gift to Christine for her birthday."_

"_Why do you need money anyway?"_

"_Pappa needs a special medicine for his cough."_

"_Well, I suppose I can use the blue ribbons, until you pay the money back."_

* * *

Christine turns away, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Christine, are you all right?" Adele walks over to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulder.

"No, I am not all right," she says. "Any more than you are all right with Nadir being out on the street, not knowing what is going on. We are all of us on edge."

Meg joins her mother at Christine's side, wrapping her arms around both women. "I am sorry. I am trying very hard to grow up. Darius reminds me all the time of my selfishness."

Adele pulls back. "He does?"

Christine raises her eyebrows and covers her giggle with her fingertips.

"He does not exactly say anything, but that man can say more with a look…Maman, you could take lessons."

"Is that so?" Adele chuffs.

"Be careful, Madame Giry, you have competition," Christine chuckles. "Sit down, I have an idea." Christine brings Erik's black box from the sitting room and places it on the dining table. She takes the As Nas cards from the box, along with two other small wooden caskets.

"What are those?"

Opening the first box, she says, "Tarot cards. There are two parts – the Major Arcana and the Minor Arcana."

"They are fortune telling cards," Adele says.

"Yes, Erik has been teaching me, but, when I saw the As Nas cards, I saw a similarity with the Aces and Kings and the other cards." She lays them out on the table. "There are four suits instead of all the Aces being identical and so forth."

Meg fingers the cards. "They are beautifully drawn and such pretty colors."

"Each card has its own significance, but we need not be concerned about that now. When I know more, I can read your futures," she laughs, putting that deck back into the black box. "These are what I wanted to show you." She removes a smaller deck. "These are regular playing cards. Erik taught me a game called rummy that can be played with two or three people."

"I think some of the workers play this game?" Adele says.

"Maybe," Christine says, "but they are probably playing poker for money – which has similarities to As Nas. Erik knows all sorts of card games – even one I can play by myself. When I was with Pappa – especially at the inn – men would sit around playing different games. He never allowed me to get too close to the men, so I could not actually learn what they were doing."

"Gustave was trying to protect you," Adele says quickly.

"I know that, Adele," Christine says, patting her on the hand. "Still, I should like to have learned some of these games."

"Can you teach us this rummy? Darius is always wanting me to learn these games." Meg says. "It might keep my…our minds off of other things?"

"My thought exactly."

* * *

"Rummy!" Adele squeals, melding all her cards on the table, with one left over to discard.

"Not again," Meg groans. "Is that supposed to happen, Christine?"

"It is unusual," Christine answers, "But she has not been playing long enough to know how to cheat."

All three burst out laughing.

"Christine?" Erik calls, leading the five other men through the front door, looking confused at the festive sounds coming from the dining room.

"We are here – playing our own games," she says, sticking her head through the doorway. Her eyes widen at the sight of the men crowded in the foyer - particularly Henri and Stephan, looking like beggars. "Do not walk on my carpets with your dirty shoes. Those had best not be your new boots."

"House shoes in the armoire, gentlemen, help yourselves," Erik says. "Henri and Stephane, remove your breeches, as well."

"Monsieur?"

"Your shirts are sufficient to cover you to walk down the hallway is a bathroom. You will find soap and towels to wash and some of my pajama trousers to wear," Erik says. "Christine, please return to the dining room until our young men are respectable again."

Giggling, she removes herself as requested.

Boots are exchanged for guest slippers. Henri and Stephane proceed to the lavatory as directed. Erik, Nadir, Darius and Officer Fremed join the women seated at the long Chippendale table. Their discarded hands of cards, lying in front of them. Tea service and dessert plates pushed to one side.

"It appears that Darius was not the only one enticed into game playing tonight," Nadir says.

Meg gets up from her place and runs to hug Darius. "You are all right?"

He nods, hugging her back. "Things went quite well, to be honest. Almost pleasant and easy to forget the reason I was there."

"Everyone appears to be safe and sound," Christine says.

"You seem to have found a way to entertain yourselves." His tone dry.

"You look upset we are not wringing our hands," she says, rising to meet him with a hug as he walks to her place at the table.

"A little concern would be nice," Erik responds, kissing her on the cheek. "It would seem our jobs have become routine, even to our ladies."

Nadir follows his lead, "I heard you won this hand as we arrived."

"We had such fun."

"Next time we sit watch – we must bring a deck of cards," Nadir says.

"I would prefer bringing Christine, but the cards would certainly break the monotony."

"Are we to hear what happened tonight?" Meg asks.

"Pull up the side chairs around the table – this might be a better place to discuss what happened than the sitting room, I think," Erik says.

"Meg, lets you and I help Christine clear and prepare some refreshment," Adele says, getting up, gathering their used dishes.

"All this talk seems very lighthearted, but was it really pleasant – as Darius said?" Christine asks, returning to her chair.

"In a sense," Erik says, taking the chair next to her. "That makes it all the more dangerous."

"I did say almost – perhaps unreal is a better word," Darius responds. "I was being tested."

"And did you pass?"

"Having Officer Fremed on duty turned out to be one of the better ideas – I shall have to buy Inspector Marquand a cigar for offering his services," Nadir says, wrapping an arm around Darius' shoulder.

Gilles nods in appreciation – he holds his cap against his chest, his uniform is filled by a stocky, but not unwieldy build. "Just doing my job."

"That is an understatement – in answer to your question, my love. The officer likely saved Darius' life," Erik says.


	12. Revenge

Revenge

"_There he is," Erik said, tugging at Nadir's arm. _

"_I see him, praise Allah."_

"_You really thought they would do something to him? _

"_I could not rule it out." Nadir replied._

"_Then why did you suggest he do this?"_

"_Harim needs to be destroyed. I had to know if he was really here in Paris and what he was up to."_

"_Because of Darius?"_

"_Because of Darius, because of you. Primarily – because of me." Nadir's eyes remain focused on the street – avoiding Erik's intense stare._

"_Tell me – you know so much of me, but I know so little of you."_

"_You know me well enough." The daroga took a sip of his lemonade, before pushing the glass away. "Too tart. They never use enough sugar."_

"_Please. I have never heard you speak in such a way, my friend."_

_Nadir sighed and faced Erik, his eyes filled with both sorrow and anger, mouth set in a grim line._

_oOo_

"_May I ask to be excused from this assignment, my Shah?"_

"_Why? You do not wish to travel to Russian to find this freakish musician for my pleasure?"_

"_Not at all, highness – under other circumstances I would find it to be quite the adventure. My son is unwell. I am concerned about leaving him in the attendance of servants. He is quite young and his mother is deceased."_

"_His servants are perfectly capable of taking care of a child with an upset stomach."_

"_This is not your concern, Harim. Please know your place."_

"_Daroga, you, too, overstep your boundaries. Harim takes direction from me."_

"_Excuse me, my Shah. I spoke rashly, I was thinking of my son's health."_

"_If he has a simple stomach ache, I see no reason why I should not send my best investigator to serve me."_

"_He is a sickly child."_

"_Then the sooner you leave, the sooner you will return to tend to him."_

"_Yes, thank you, I shall leave tomorrow."_

_oOo_

"_I do not know if Reza became worse due to my absence – possibly not…"_

"_No matter, his intent was evil – as I suspect it is now."_

"_Let us meet with Darius now," Nadir said, rising from his seat._

_Erik grabbed his arm. "No, wait – watch. Harim appears to be following him."_

"_Then he needs our support, more than ever."_

"_He will not act so blatantly in the street."_

"_There are only the patrons around – who knows what power he has over them?"_

"_No," Erik insisted, his golden eyes burrowing into Nadir's green ones. "You are too full of anger and fear. Our presence will do more harm than good right now. He will let us know if he needs help."_

_Darius turned sharply, facing the large man following him. "Is there something else you wish to discuss?"_

_Harim stopped short, stumbling slightly. "You forgot your winnings." _

"_I staked nothing – I won nothing." Darius began walking again, entering the street to cross away from the darkened doorways. _

"_A fee then – for joining our game." He took Darius' arm and stuffed a small leather bag in his pocket. "Encouragement to play again. Think about my offer. You did well for your sponsor." Releasing his arm, he slapped Darius on the back and returned to the café._

_Continuing across the street, toward the restaurant where Erik and Nadir await him, Darius stopped to remove the pouch from his pocket. A significant number of fake coins, several gold francs and a single qajar fall into his palm. Sensing movement coming toward him again, he emptied the coins back into his pocket, taking a stance facing the direction Harim took. Two younger men, dressed in traditional thobes approach, smiled, nodded, and continued past him._

_Darius returned the greeting, following them with his eyes._

_In the street just beyond the cafe, the streetlamp revealed a middle-aged gentleman half stumbling, half running in his direction. His tailcoat was unbuttoned and top hat askew – a blue bag held tightly to his chest. _

_Darius attempted to see beyond the man, assessing if he was being chased. He failed to see the figure in black moving stealthily in and out of the doorways of closed shops. Concerned about the man's distress, he went to help him._

"_Now," Erik said, tossing his napkin on his empty plate._

_It was Nadir's turn to hesitate. "Let us wait, he is helping some drunken sot," he said, keeping his seat._

_Light flashes from the knife held in a black-gloved hand._

_Erik jumped up and began running, "He is – but there is someone else in the shadows – with a weapon."_

_Nadir followed Erik, passing through the tables and knocking over the chairs of the nearly empty coffee house._

_The sound of a sharp whistle pierced the night. "Halt. Police." Officer Fremed called out._

_Darius steadied the stranger, who had fallen into his arms, scanning the area to place the policeman._

"_In front of you," Nadir called out, as he and Erik ran toward him._

_Darius looked up to see Fremed chasing the dark figure and followed him. By the time Erik and Nadir reached the frightened gentleman, the stalker had disappeared into the darkness of the street and Darius was returning with Officer Fremed to where the three men waited._

* * *

"What happened to the man – do you know who his is?" Christine asks, reaching for Erik's arm.

"We escorted M. Firmin Richard to his residence," Erik smirks, moving his chair closer to hers.

"Firmin?" Adele exclaims. "What on earth? Do you suppose this is what Genevieve was concerned about? Was he playing cards with you?"

"No, Madame."

Meg, having taken control of Darius from the moment he entered the dining room, sits on his lap, resting her head against his shoulder. "You are never doing that again."

Darius takes her hand and kisses it. "We must find out who the stalker was and if his presence was even related to the gambling."

"I wonder at the fake coins, the francs and the qajar Harim gave you," Nadir says, toying with his teaspoon, drawing figures on the linen tablecloth.

"Wasn't the Persian coin supposed to tempt a thief?" Erik asks.

"But that was in the case of runners – I am not a runner."

"Perhaps he meant it to be a payment," Erik says. "The fake coins were what you 'won' in stakes – the francs and qajar the monetary equivalent."

"So Harim was not behind the attack?" Christine asks.

"We still do not know," Nadir sighs, dropping the spoon. "I am not sure we are any more enlightened tonight than we were before."

Henri and Stephane join the others at the dining table, each clothed in a pair of Erik's much too long for them pajama trousers and velvet slippers, their own rough cotton shirts hang to their knees. Faces and hands are scrubbed of the dirt from the alley. Looking like more like adolescent school boys than detectives, they sit down at the table and help themselves to the cheese, baguettes and tea set out by Adele.

"The person we believe to be Alex left shortly after he arrived," Henri says, munching on his sandwich. "Stephane left his station to avoid suspicion – only I saw him leave."

"Did he pay any notice to you?"

"I do not believe so – I moved farther away from the café door and found a niche to stand in – out of ready view. He ran past, not even looking at anyone in the alleyway."

"I joined Henri after reporting to you and we waited until the other men left," Stephane offers.

"Did either of you recognize anyone?" Nadir asks.

The young men exchange a look.

Henri shrugs.

"Who?"

"M. Richard – the man we took to his home."

"So he was at the café," Erik looks at Darius.

"If he was there, I did not see him," Darius says. "He was not a player at either of the tables, or observing within the room."

"When you left the alley, did you see Alex on the street?" Nadir asks.

"There were a few people who could have been him – slim, dressed in all black, but no one with red hair. The man we thought to be Alex had been gone for some time before we left the alley."

"You said he had a duffel bag?"

"Not when he left the café."

"Did any of the others have a bag?"

Henri pauses a moment, furrowing his brow – his eyes light and he says, "Yes, there was one other. I did not make much of it because our focus was on Alex and he had already passed by."

"Firman Richard?"

"No – slimmer, more youthful of movement…wearing a beret, not a top hat," Stephane says. "I would not be able to confirm I saw M. Richard either enter or exit the café."

"Still, Firmin had a duffel bag – would not release it, even after he knew he was safe." Erik says. "It would appear there are two satchels.

"So Darius' stalker could have been someone else, not Alex?" Meg asks.

"Or no one was stalking Darius at all, but M. Richard," Christine says.

"I am sorry," Stephane says, putting down his food. "I should not have left my post."

Darius shakes his head. "I did not see Alex either. There was a glass on the wall – it looked black on the other side, perhaps someone could have been watching." His eyes narrow and he rubs his chin. "When I found I did not recognize anyone, I simply played the game."

"You won?" Meg asks, shifting her position on his lap to face him.

"Yes – more than I would have imagined. I believe Harim allowed me to win some hands. He wants me to come back."

"That is wonderful. Is it enough to buy that bicycle you want?"

Darius' face flushes. He bends over to whisper in Meg's ear, "Not now."

"Firmin may have sponsored you," Erik says, ignoring Meg. "If he also placed bets on your play, he may have won a sizeable amount of money."

"If he owed them – they would have kept it to pay off his debt," Nadir says.

"Do you think he was stupid enough to try to steal the receipts?" Adele asks.

"You know him better than the rest of us," Erik responds.

She sighs, leaning back into her chair. "Then I would have to say, yes. He is."

* * *

Phillippe looks up from the papers on his desk at the knock on his study door. "Enter."

Raoul stands in the doorway, "Can we talk?"

"Of course. Come in, have a seat – would you like to join me in a brandy?"

"Thank you – I would," he says, taking the chair next to Phillippe's in front of the fireplace.

"Is everything all right. I thought Monique would be moving here today." Phillippe hands him a snifter.

"I just left her – she was exhausted and wished to simply rest today. I stayed for a while, but she indicated that sleep was what she wanted more than companionship."

"All is well, then?"

"I wish I knew." Raoul attempts a laugh, allowing the brandy to warm in his hand before taking a sip. "I do not understand women."

Phillippe chuckles. "That is an age-old mystery, my brother – I fear no man will ever conquer that Everest." Taking his regular seat in front of the fireplace – cold now, during the summer months. "Is there something in particular that puzzles you right now?"

"She tells me she loves me, then tells me she is a madwoman. Tonight she said there were times at M. Robert's when she felt fine – she had her time alone and it was peaceful."

"I have no answer for you – her experience is beyond what any of us has been through. She killed her oppressor which took courage, but I do believe she was, as she says, mad. Taking a human life is something I have not experienced – in war or peace – and hope never to. I imagine it is quite traumatizing even when justified.

"I tried to kill Erik."

"Yes?"

"I tried to kill Christine and myself."

"Yes, you did try."

"I did feel as though I was mad."

"But, here you are, seemingly sound of mind having a normal conversation with me."

"Seemingly…"

"How is it you came home, you usually meet with your club on Tuesday, as I recall?" Phillippe says, checking his pocket watch. "Would you not rather be with your friends?"

"I have no friends, Phillippe. We both know it is not a gentlemen's club. I gamble."

"Are you losing?" Phillippe asks, taking a sip of his drink.

"I have not touched any of the family funds." His eyes drift to the journals on Phillippe's desk.

"Your allotment?"

Raoul shakes his head. "Gone. Playing As Nas. I lost when I played for myself. I was so desperate to win something back, I sponsored a player." His eyes drop, focusing on the woolen carpet. "I bartered my cloak."

"So that is where it went."

"The man handling my wagers took a fancy to it – he made the suggestion. And I actually won." His laugh is hysterical as shouts at the ceiling, raising his fists. "I won using the damned cloak as tender."

"But?"

"But. But. But. He. Had. Not. Placed. The. Bet. So I not only lost my stake, but my winnings," Raoul presses his head into his hands. "He laughed at me when I challenged him. Said I always lost, so he did not even bother to _place_ the bet. That he always kept my bets for himself." His eyes search the room, unwilling to meet Phillippe's gaze. "How pathetic I must seem."

Phillippe frowns, putting down his glass. "Still, there must be some recourse…"

"The man was Gregor. The body in the alley covered ever so nicely with my cloak. All I could think was my photograph was in the pocket."

Phillippe rises and paces the room. "There were cards and money in other pockets," he says. "Are you completely out of control?"

"Those were not mine," he cries.

"The money probably could be considered yours, but that is not what I mean." Phillippe stops in front of Raoul. "Look at me."

"You think I killed him?" His brow furrows, jaw loose, eyes red from as yet unshed tears.

"I am asking you," Phillippe's tone is dull, his face as if carved from ice.

"NO!" Raoul roars, standing to face his brother. "No. How could you believe…my, God, Phillippe."

"I neither thought nor believed – I asked." He turns away from Raoul and returns to his desk and pulls out a sheet of paper. "You must tell Inspector Marquand what you told me – or, if it is easier for you – Erik."

"Ha – yes, I am going to confess to Erik about how I had a grudge against the murdered man, but did not kill him in a fit of rage and he will believe me."

"Do you want to find out who did kill Gregor?"

"Of course."

"Then tell what you know."

"Fine." He sags back into the sofa and finishes off the brandy.

Phillippe writes a short note, places it in an envelope then rings for Francoise. "It seems to me you have two obsessions and tonight, Monique won out. You have to decide for yourself if you are out of control. Her living here might be good for both of you."

"Phillippe?"

"What?"

"I am sorry."

"So am I, my brother, so am I."

* * *

"The bag with the winnings has been stolen," Harim says, grabbing Alex by the shoulder as he walks through the door from the alley.

"Yes. I know."

"You were watching?"

"As always."

"You retrieved it then?" The hand presses harder.

Alex pulls away, sweeping a black hood from his head, before brushing off his jacket with a gloved hand. "Do you see a valise?" His tone curt. "All I know is, as I watched everyone leave, someone ran by with my duffle and I followed him. My intention was to teach him a lesson – but a patrolling officer ran me off."

"You will still be able to get it back?"

"Of course," Alex says. "What I would like to know is how he managed to leave here with it."

"Massoud said he watched everyone leave, including the young man who always brings a bag with him. He began teasing him about his high hopes of winning. The young man laughed, saying he only carried books – which Massoud discovered to be true." Harim laughs at the memory. "A student of art and a gambler." Waving off the recollection, he says, "Then he left the room for a moment. The old fool was last to leave, he must have come back, saw the bag and guessed the contents."

"It would appear Massoud did not do as he said – waited for everyone to leave," Alex says. "The door was left unlocked?"

"An oversight."

"And you say you were the head guard at the Persian Palace – how much was stolen from the Shah under your guardianship?" Alex scoffs. "You are lucky you escaped before he killed you."

"Harim raises his hand to smite Alex, but the lithe man, years younger, dances away. "I would not do that. We need each other."

"You should not have left."

"So I am to be blamed for someone else's carelessness?" Alex flops down on one of the sofas. "I always leave – that old fool, as you call him, knows me."

"How?"

Alex chuckles. "That is my business."

Harim harrumphs. "Do you need funds to pay anyone off?"

"Yes – you do have your following – although most suffered losses," Alex says. "I suppose Richard believed the money to be his." He picks up a deck of cards and does some trick shuffles. "This new man was a real find, I should like to have seen him play. Did he win legitimately?"

"A few hands – I am still the master of the game."

"So the answer is yes. Remember, I am the one who found you playing for room and board in Tangiers. Your ego is too big to hand over a game you can win."

"Perhaps my priorities have changed – the money being more important than the glory."

"We shall see."

"As you said – we need each other."

* * *

The knock on the door shatters her sleep. Giselle throws off the afghan covering her. Rising from the chaise, she stumbles to the door. "Francoise?" Giselle says as she opens the door to the Phillippe's butler. "This is a surprise. Please come in."

The tall man with graying hair and a tightly trimmed mustache, makes a small bow and enters the sitting room of the small flat.

"Do not get up, Giselle, I shall see who it is." Veronique calls out, coming from of the kitchen drying her hands on the cotton apron, she removes from around her waist. "Oh, excuse me."

"Veronique Dupree, this is Francoise – Phillippe's houseman. Francoise – I am sorry I do not know your surname – this is Veronique. I live here with her and her son, Andre."

"Aubrey – my surname is Aubrey," he says. "So this is the domain of the magnificent Andre – you have raised a wonderful son, Madame. We always enjoy his visits."

"Thank you, he will be sorry he missed you. He is fast asleep, thank goodness."

"He is quite energetic."

Bobbing her head in vigorous agreement, she says, "I shall leave you alone – it was a pleasure to meet you." With that she enters her bedroom, closing the curtain behind her.

"Please sit down, Francoise – can I offer you tea – coffee? I was just going to prepare something for myself. I fear I fell asleep the moment I arrived home and am not prepared for a guest," she says, indicating he sit on the chaise she just abandoned.

"No, thank you. I am sorry to have disturbed your evening – I only wished to give you this note from le Comte," he says, handing her the small envelope. "He apologized for the lateness of the hour, but did ask me to wait for a reply."

Finding a small knife on Veronique's work table, she slits the envelope and removes the single sheet of paper.

Quirking an eyebrow upon reading the message, she looks at Francoise. "Are you aware of what is written here?"

"Only to the extent that le Comte indicated you would be making a response and to be prepared to assist Mlle. Monique if necessary."

"I see." Taking a sheet of paper from a cubby in the desk, she writes a note, folds it and seals it in an envelope. "This is my reply for Comte Phillippe – you need not be concerned about Monique."

Taking the message and placing it in his pocket, he bows again. "Then I shall take my leave and bid you au revoir."

"Au revoir," she says, closing the door and setting the alarm.

Veronique re-enters the room. "I could not help overhearing. He was to take Monique to Raoul's home?"

"They must have believed she was here…and possibly ill," she says, rising from Veronique's desk. "He asked that I check on her – Raoul told him she was distressed – Phillippe did not want her to be alone."

* * *

"_Vicomte, Monique – how nice to see you away from the opera house," Giselle said, passing the doorway to the Giry apartment on her way up to her own. _

_Giselle giggled, snuggling close to Raoul, "I decided to take a break from rehearsals and nap today – Raoul joined me for a short while."_

_Blood rushed to Raoul's face as he doffed his hat to Giselle. "I was concerned Monique might be ill. It appears she was simply fatigued."_

"_Staying in bed has its rewards," Monique said, pulling her dressing gown around her, tightening the belt._

"_Rest is always needed when one works as hard as you do at your craft, Monique," Giselle said. "I shall leave you to your good-byes. Enjoy your evening."_

_Raoul reached out for her elbow. "Will you be seeing Phillippe this evening?"_

_Giselle cocked her head at him. "So many people interested in my relationship with Phillippe today."_

"_I did not mean to intrude."_

"_No, that is all right, I am being overly sensitive." Patting his hand, she said, "No, I am not. I, too, am fatigued with my new position and want nothing more than a cool drink and to put my feet up." With a brief wave, she proceeded up the stairs, stopping on the next landing._

"_You are going home?" Monique turned her face up to Raoul's._

"_Yes, I think so," he said, bending down to kiss her. "Are you certain you do not wish to come with me now?"_

"_I need to pack my things and I really must speak with Meg about the change."_

"_Very well," he said. "I shall see you tomorrow, then."_

"_Tomorrow."_

* * *

Veronique laughs. "I wish I could have seen that."

"I am sorry I did not wait for you tonight, but I was truly exhausted by the end of the day. The chance meeting did give me a chuckle, though."

"She does have le Vicomte dancing in circles. I saw her on the street as I was purchasing some peaches on my way home. I assumed she was going to the opera house – she had her duffel with her." Walking to the kitchen, she asks, "Are you hungry – there is half a quiche… and the peaches. They must be very good, Andre ate two of them and would have eaten three had I not stopped him."

Giselle joins her. "Sounds lovely," she says, sitting down at the small table that serves as their dining area. "So she went out after Raoul left?" She snickers. "Her brother was looking for Reynald today. Said he lost his key."

"Indeed? What did you do?"

"Assigned him a new dressing room – I will not have anyone take both keys to a dressing room."

"Both?" Veronique places a dinner plate down in front of Giselle and takes the seat across from her.

"The duplicate was missing from the board – likely in Reynald's pocket. I believe that dressing room is where the money exchanges were taking place for the gambling operation that got Gregor killed."

"Reynald did like playing around with those keys."

"Exactly."

"What did you respond to Phillippe?"

"Just that Monique was fine when I saw her last and I wished to speak with him tomorrow at the Palais," Giselle says, taking a bite of the quiche. "For now, I plan to enjoy this delicious food, then take a bath and retire."

* * *

The small room is dark and sparsely furnished – the single bed covered with a gray crushed wool blanket, a small electric lamp along with a ceramic bowl and pitcher sit atop a small chest of drawers. The advantage of the grim space is a view of the boulevard below and access to stairs leading to both the front and rear of the building. The green grocer shop below has been shuttered for hours, another plus for unobserved comings and goings.

Monique sits on the window seat, a blue duffel bag in front of her. She removes the pouches, sorting the coins. "Darius did quite well. M. Richard could have easily paid his debt with this and some to spare."

"How did you manage it? Despite our talks, it was always a flight of fancy – too risky." His elbows propped on the back of the chair he straddles, chin resting on his folded hands. "Massoud really had no idea of who you are?"

"Why would he?" she asks, pulling the false mustache from her upper lip. "Voila!" Stage make-up masks the fair complexion and the combination of a black wig under a black beret, leaves no suggestion of copper curls. "I shall miss this little masquerade."

Alex grins at his sister. "He did not check your bag?"

Monique rolls her eyes. "Once – just once. He was flirting with me, as he became wont to do," she says. "I must admit, I was flirting back. I put my bag down, next to yours, then made the switch."

"I had no idea he was so inclined."

"Perhaps you should dye your hair black and grow some facial hair."

At first taken aback, Alex frowns, then chuckles at the comment. "Shall we just say, I do not find him appealing and leave it at that?"

"Then you will keep your opinions about Raoul's appeal to yourself from now on?" Finished with her counting, she looks up at him.

Jumping off the chair, he hops onto the table, wrapping his arms around his bent legs. "Bargain accepted," he says, "So we did well?"

"We did very well. The timing was perfect."

"Poor M. Richard."

Monique laughs. "It is too bad you could not have taunted him a bit more. I suppose discovering he has nothing but fake coins will have to do – for now."

"I am surprised you find such pleasure in this."

"Why would I not?"

"After mother, you were the compassionate member of the family."

"Yes, I suppose – when you say it that way," she says. "She would be horrified."

"Why him, though? He seems rather harmless – weak. Greedy, perhaps," he says, resting his head on his knees.

Her blue eyes when she looks up at him are icy, to the point where he draws back. "In his greed, he allowed M. Robert access to us – to me. He is a weak pig and a coward and continues with the practice of putting the rats on display. I was filled with joy when this opportunity presented itself."

* * *

"I tend to forget how young Henri and Stephane are," Erik says as he wipes the marble vanity with a wet towel.

Christine rests against the door jamb of the guest bathroom. "Age has nothing to do with it. The bath always looked like it had been through a storm after Pappa completed his ablutions. Water on every surface and each towel covered with so much dirt, I often wondered if he bathed at all."

"I suspect they do not have the same facilities we have available to us. Still if the sink was not itself covered with the residue of dirty water, I might suspect you were correct."

"One can only imagine the damage if they showered," she chuckles.

"That should do it," he says, tossing the now dirty towel into the already full laundry basket. "Guests gone, all the cleanup completed, perhaps we can enjoy some time together." Joining her at the door, he gathers her in his arms. "Holding you close restores my soul. I have been missing you this entire day."

"And I, you," she says, resting her head on his chest. "How I ever lived without your embrace, I do not know. When you are away for too long a time, I ache for the merest touch of your fingers."

"Shall I make some tea?" he asks, pressing his lips against the top of her head. "We can just relax in our lovely sitting room and just be. I have never been very good at that – but the idea of doing so with you makes me incredibly happy."

Taking his hand, she leads him into the hallway. "I have a better idea."

"Oh?" A smile breaks across his face.

"Yes."

After a few steps toward their bedroom, Christine tugs him to walk farther along. "Not bed – not yet."

"Where, then – the patio?"

"No, my dear husband, the nursery – you have not seen it yet."

As with Adele and Meg earlier, she opens the door and turns on the small rose lamp, then lets him pass her into the green and silver and white room. Standing back, she clasps her hands atop her growing belly, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet – eyes alight with pleasure and anticipation.

His response is not immediate. Looking first at Christine, he moves to each piece of furniture, touching the toys and blankets. Diapers and small blankets sit on the elegant changing table. The lotions and powders he has been preparing since learning of the baby's coming stacked on shelves beneath the table catch his eye. Bending over, he picks up one of the bottles. Turning to Christine, he says, "This one is very good for rash." Replacing it, he moves to the crib.

"What do you think?"

"It is perfect – everything is just perfect," he says, not looking at her, but at the pink blanket she has worked on so diligently – in between other tasks and adventures – wanting it to be just right. "As you are perfect," his voice cracks with the words.

"Erik? Are you crying?" she asks, moving to wrap her arms around his waist. "Why are you crying?"

"The baby has been an abstract concept to me. All of my awareness comes from you. I feel your joy and drink from that cup," he says, turning to face her, ghosting his fingers over her cheekbone, into her hair, toying with a few curls that have strayed from her ribbons. "My own feelings tend to be fearful and anxious – for your health and her…health."

"But seeing the room makes her more real?"

"Not entirely, but, more – yes, definitely more real. She is a sonata as yet unwritten, but I do like the room where she will live the first moments of her life."

"Thank you," Christine says, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I hope that your fear dissolves entirely at some point."

"You realize how difficult that is for me?" he says, raising his hand to his face.

"We have the advice of Dr. Gerard, but, yes, I understand," she says. "What _you _must understand is I love her and shall love her no matter her appearance. Just as I love you. Your face helped form you and your feelings, I know that. You have to know, however, your face is actually a mask. One that kept your mother and all those others from seeing you."

Erik sighs deeply. "I wish that God, if there is a God, had made it removable."

"You made a joke about your face," Christine laughs.

"I did, did I not?" he says. "I suppose there is hope for me yet.


	13. Place Your Bets

Place Your Bets

"What is it now, Reynald?" Erik asks rising from his chair to prevent the former stage manager from falling as he bursts into the office.

Reynald's breathing is labored, face pale and awash with perspiration. Unable to steady his knees, he grasps the sleeves of Erik's frock coat, as he is dragged to the brown sofa.

Erik leaves him half on, half off the settee to get him a glass of brandy.

"Good grief, man, you look as though you have seen a ghost," Nadir adds, throwing down his pencil.

"I did…I had to see if it was you," he says, looking a wraith himself. "The Opera Ghost. I saw the Opera Ghost – in the alley."

"That again," Nadir scoffs.

"I saw him or someone dressed like you…him," Reynald insists.

"Was anyone else there – to attest to your story?" Erik asks, handing him the glass with a finger of liquor.

"No. I do not know." Reynald gulps it down, closing his eyes as he swallows. With a loud release of breath, he says, "I saw the cape and hat and…a body – I am certain I saw a body. I ran." Restored by the alcohol, he struggles into a sitting position and removes a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face and the back of his neck.

"Another body in the alley thanks to the Opera Ghost – not terribly imaginative." Nadir gets up from his desk. "I suppose we should investigate. That stalker last night could actually have passed for the Phantom – maybe he is lurking here looking for M. Richard."

"That is a thought – although I am not certain this would be the best place to accost him," Erik says. "Too many people milling about – unless, of course, it is Alex – in which case, he is one of the milling people and can blend in with the rest. Still the costume. I find that quite annoying."

Nadir takes Reynald by the arm, lifting him from the settee. "Come along – I am not leaving you in here alone."

"I cannot go back out there." He touches his hand to his nose, still wearing Adele's suturing."

"Is there some reason the 'Opera Ghost' would be after you?" Nadir asks.

"N-No."

"Then go do whatever work it is you are supposed to be doing that does not include lurking in the alleyway."

Erik and Nadir follow Reynald from the office – locking the door and setting the alarm.

"All these locks – why are there so many locks?" Reynald asks, watching the process.

"To keep the Opera Ghost and other demons, especially drunkards and thieves, at bay," Erik responds. "At other times, they can keep people in – which is where you may wind up if you continue with your ramblings."

"I am not rambling – what I say is true. You have seen what I say is true. I may be disreputable, but I am an honest man."

"Fine." Nadir rolls his eyes. "Now go to work."

* * *

The carriage pulls up to the front of the café across from the Palais Garnier and stops. Armand Moncharmin opens the door and steps out. Stamping his feet to adjust his trousers, he tugs on the jacket of his olive morning suit and sharpens the angle of his top hat. "I shall order our breakfast and meet you in the office," he says to Firmin, huddled in the corner of the cabin. "Try to calm yourself or you will most certainly make yourself ill."

"I am already ill," Firmin says. Shivering in spite of the heat, he wears the coach blanket over his black frock coat, his eyes red and nose running. "Why not send a messenger?"

"This is faster," Armand replies. "I still do not know why you just did not stay at home."

"I told you – I must speak with M. Saint-Rien."

Armand slams the door shut. "Very well. Ernest take M. Richard to the stage entrance, then fetch Dr. Gerard – advise him we need his services." Sighing, he watches the coach pull away, looking up to the heavens, he mutters, "If ever I think of investing in the theater again, strike me dead."

"No. Oh, God, no, please do not hurt me," Firmin lies curled on the ground, his head buried in his hands, gathering the blanket around him.

"You took something that was not yours, little man," the voice whispers in his ear, so close he swears he can feel the breath of the speaker.

He tries to recall exactly how he found himself on the bricks. Ernest stopped the carriage and he stepped down to close the door. The carriage drove off and without warning, he felt a hand on each shoulder, shoving him. Did he cry out, he could not remember. He must have passed out. His face felt wet – he lifted a hand to touch his forehead…blood, his fingers felt the break in the skin above his eyebrow.

Chancing a look around, he sees no one.

"The bag I took held books and fake coins – there was no money. That was my money – I won. I bet on Darius and I won. Someone else stole it," he mumbles attempting to push himself up with his hands.

"Pity. Either way, you have a debt, plus the additional money in the bag that was not a part of your winnings."

The response from the voice jolts him. Feeling a foot on his back, he cries out. "Please I cannot return what I do not have."

The blade was so sharp, the action so swift, he was not really aware that his nose had been cut, but for the taste of hot blood flowing into his mouth. "Do not kill me. Please."

"Dead men cannot pay back debts," the voice says. "Tonight – have the money tonight – 25,000 francs should cover it."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. I will know."

* * *

"So Monique did not come with you this morning?" Adeles asks, leaning back in her chair, Veronique sitting across from her at the desk – enjoying a croissant and coffee. "I hope she is all right - I have been concerned about her lately."

Giselle sits on the chaise, licking the last bit of jam from her fingertips. "I assume she was with her brother." Giselle checks her pocket watch as she rises from the chaise. Placing her cup and saucer on the coffee table, she says, "Much as I am enjoying filling you in on Alex and Monique, I best get about my business – I am not certain a half day will be sufficient, but everyone is working so hard – it would not be fair to ask for more."

Adele checks her own watch and sighs. "Yes, Veronique and I must really attack these journals today to find out exactly the amount of money we are dealing with in terms of a loss. Erik says he will cover it for the State report, but I would like to have this production show a profit."

"How has Reynald being doing with the inventory?" Giselle asks. "He has been curiously absent from view – I hope it has to do with business and not more of his past-times."

"Surprisingly well," Veronique says, "I think he is actually pleased to have someone directing him – much a like an untrained puppy."

"Follows you around, does he?" Adele laughs. "From what you spoke of about our vicomte, he is of a similar mind about Monique."

"Quite so," Veronique says. "Andre takes after my husband who was ever more independent – I was always having to find out what he was up to – usually busy learning something new. Reynald is always underfoot, which is disconcerting."

"I would imagine he feels safe with you," Giselle says. "You have that aura about you."

"He is afraid of that gambling organization he got involved with. Still claims it was the 'Opera Ghost' who nicked his nose, but he must know better."

"Let us find him and put him to work – since that is what serves all of us," Giselle says. "Thank you for the coffee – much needed these days."

"I shall return shortly, Madame – once I get Reynald situated," Veronique says.

"If I am not here, just continue with the work," Adele says.

"Do you need an errand run – I could take care of it," Veronique says.

Waving them off, she leans back in her chair pressing the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. "No. Thank you – this is something I must attend to myself."

As they close the door behind them, Reynald stumbles down the hall. He lurches back, seemingly unaware of who they are. Covering his eyes with one hand, he holds up the other before falling to his knees.

"Reynald!" Giselle barks. "Stand up you fool – have you been drinking?" Grabbing the front of his plaid shirt, she pulls him to his feet. Waving a hand in front of her face, she say, "You have. I should run you out of here right now."

"It is not what you think," he says. "M. Erik gave me the brandy – for my distress."

"What is it now – the ghost again?"

"Yes, in the alley. I swear I saw him…there was a body as well." Reynald grips her arms. "Messrs. Erik and Nadir are going to see right now. They told me to get to work – that is where I was going – I was not expecting to see you and Mme. Veronique."

"Well, I was looking for you," Veronique says. "Pull yourself together and we will continue with the inventory of the prop room. That should keep you out of trouble…and harm's way." With a side eye at Giselle, she takes Reynald's elbow and steers him toward the stage.

Giselle jogs past them. "I feel the need to check on our ballerina and her tapping brother."

* * *

The carriage moves surprisingly quickly through the morning traffic. Phillippe taps Giselle's note against his chin as he looks out the window at the street, filled with foot traffic, moving without any sort of rhythm, just people, carts, horses and carriages moving at will wherever an opening might occur. Relaxing against the leather seat back, he is grateful for the skill of his coachmen – each of them a master at negotiating the Parisian streets.

"What were you thinking?" Raoul asks. "Is that a note from Giselle, perhaps?

"It is, but that is not what distracts me," Phillippe says. "I was enjoying the view and appreciating the ability of Percy to manage the horses through all the comings and goings."

"I never considered that, but you are quite right," Raoul says. "I much prefer walking – it is often faster and less frustrating. The note – a response to the one you wrote last night?"

"Yes. After our conversation, I thought to have her check on Monique – to bring her to our home."

"Why? I told you she was fine," Raoul complains. "I do not need her believing I speak about her to you or anyone else."

"You _are_ besotted. Well, apparently you were correct, Giselle agreed that Monique was _fine_," Phillippe says, smiling and slapping him on the knee with the note.

Raoul relaxes, joining Phillippe in watching the street. "I did not see a second reply – you wrote two notes."

"Observant of you," Phillippe turns to face Raoul, shifting in his seat to balance himself as the carriage hits a rough patch of road. "The other did not require a response. I simply wrote Erik to tell him we would be at the Palais this morning."

"You were confident I would still see him?"

"You are here, are you not?"

"I was hoping you would drop me off at Monique's – I am not sure I want to talk to him now."

"Very well." Phillippe detaches the lover's phone from its hook, "Percy, instead of the Palais Garnier, please drive us to the Police Prefecture."

Raoul gets up and shift to sit next to Phillippe, taking the phone from his hand. "Never mind, Percy – continue to the Palais."

* * *

Erik and Nadir reach the alley in time to stop the horses from Phillippe's carriage running over the heap that is Firmin Richard, lying in its path.

"Stop." Erik waves his arms in the air, backing up, to allow Percy to see him, he shouts, "Rein them in." Pointing to Nadir dragging the body closer to the door.

The horses whinny and joggle against one another. Erik darts to one side to avoid their hooves.

"Easy, easy," Percy coaxes the pair to quiet, tugging the brake to stop the carriage, until all movement stops and the horses calm.

Phillippe and Raoul jump out of the coach. "Dear God, what was that all about?"

Erik signals to direct their eyes toward Nadir and Firmin.

"Who is it, daroga? Do you know?" Erik asks as he walks over to him.

"M. Richard. Bleeding from the forehead and nose – he and Reynald appear to have matching nicks – but alive," Nadir says, holding a handkerchief against Firmin's nose with one hand, unwrapping the blanket Firmin has around him with the other. "Not sure what this is all about."

Erik stoops down, continuing the removal of the tangled wool. "Firmin – can you hear me?" Taking an arm, he says, "Let us get him inside."

Firmin opens his eyes, attempting to focus on Erik. "Please do not kill me. I do not have your money. The bag was empty, I swear," he blubbers.

"I have no intention of killing you, you idiot," Erik says. "If I had wanted you dead, I would have taken care of that long ago and far more efficiently. All this blood is so messy."

Raoul picks up the blanket and Firmin's hat from the bricks, following Erik and Nadir to the stage door.

Phillippe returns to the coach. "Excellent job, Percy. We shall find our way back – you may return to the house."

Stepping back, he sees another carriage approach. Turning to call out to Erik – he sees they are already inside.

The coach stops and Dr. Gerard steps out. Waving to the driver, he approaches Phillippe. "Good morning, le Comte, it is a pleasure seeing you again. I understand M. Richard has taken ill."

"Who alerted you – he was just found?"

"Found? M. Moncharmin sent his carriage to fetch me – said M. Richard was ill – feverish and agitated."

"He was lying here in the alley, bleeding from a head wound and an injury to his nose – definitely agitated, but more from an attack than anything else."

"Where is he?" Gerard asks as he rushes to the stage door, Phillippe follows close behind.

"Erik and Nadir took him inside – my brother is with them."

* * *

The conversation with Giselle and Veronique was unsettling – despite the amusing nature of the tales, Adele found the behavior of the twins odd. Using her stick to gain purchase when rising, Adele grimaces, closing her eyes a moment, before checking her pocket for matches. Satisfied she has what she needs, she lights a lantern before walking to the wall mirror, pressing the latch, the door springs open.

As time progresses, the pain in her limbs grows more intense and she avoids the tunnels as much as possible. Walking the carpeted halls tends to be easier on both her back and her damaged feet. Still, this route suits her needs.

Moving carefully along the path, she finds the door she seeks. Pressing the bricks, she has access to the dressing room most recently used by Alex. Stepping into the darkness, she holds the lantern in front of her as she surveys the room – nothing strikes her – no personal effects or costumes left behind.

Stepping further into the room, giving herself a moment to acclimate further looking for something out of place. Her eyes rest on the black cape and cavalier hat hanging from a hook next to the dressing screen not apparent from her earlier perspective.

"Now I know where, I just need to know who."

Satisfied she returns to the hidden door, exiting and closing it behind her.

Retracing her way on the uneven stones, her relief when she recognizes the entry to her office is disturbed. A rustling sound from behind alarms her. Turning around, she sees nothing. _A workman likely or the rat catcher. Or a rat. _Shivering at the thought, she moves more quickly toward her office. An uneven edge trips her, sending the lantern from her hands. Dropping her cane, she falls hitting her head on the wall.

Something brushes past her and moves into the shadows.

* * *

Andre greets them as they carry Firmin into the opera house. "Oooo, monsieurs, another body."

"Yes, Andre, another body – this is no place for you," Erik says as he and Nadir carry Firmin to the office.

"Then why I am always around when bodies are found?"

"Because you tend to be in places where you do not belong," Erik says. "Set Firmin down on the chair, Nadir. Raoul, cover him with the blanket."

Firmin securely in the chair, Erik turns to Andre, "Why are you not taking your lesson with Madame Christine?"

"I saw Reynald running down the hall and thought something exciting might be going on in the alley," Andre responds. "And I was right."

"Go fetch, Madame Giry," Nadir says, pressing a hand against his back. "Tell her to bring her sewing supplies – M. Richard is in need of a few stitches."

"He is going to look just like Reynald," the boy chuckles. "He will not like that very much."

"Most likely," Nadir says. "Now scat."

"And let Madame Christine know where you are after speaking with Madame Giry," Erik calls after him. "I will not have her worrying over you."

"Yes, monsieur, I will tell her about M. Richard."

"No," Erik says. "No…" His voice fades – the boy is out of sight. "Let us get him cleaned up and another handkerchief on his nose to stanch the bleeding."

* * *

Christine paces her dressing room. The addition of the small piano, while convenient, has her feeling more closed in than before. Erik's idea of the piano for lessons and warm-ups was to help assuage the anxiety she still harbors from the attack by Isabella. Oddly, though, she misses standing on the stage, looking out on the auditorium. If anything her sense of isolation and vulnerability is greater now in this confined space. At home – whether at the lake house or above the Rue de Rivoli, the inside doors must always be open.

* * *

_Christine felt a gust of air rush in from the sitting room - the door to the Louis-Phillippe room slammed shut. Despite her efforts, the latch will not give. The room is in total darkness - her intention was to simply walk in, retrieve her cape and leave. No light turned on - no candles lit._

_"Erik!" _

_But it was likely his opening and closing the door that created the draft. He would be preparing the skiff for their return to the Opera House._

_"Erik!" If she said it loud enough. Or perhaps, more softly - call to him in her mind. He always heard when she called. "Erik - I am frightened. Please come back now. Please."_

_Her heart raced, she could feel the erratic rhythm pounding against her chest. "Breathe, Christine - steady yourself." The nausea began to build. "Try to find the lamp." No, it was too difficult - she could not move. If she moved, he might not see her when he returned and then the door would be locked again..._

_"You are being silly. Of course, he would look for you. Where would you go? Find the lamp."_

_A knock on the door - the latch rattled. "Christine - are you in there?"_

_"Yes, Erik - the door blew shut, I cannot see anything. I cannot find the key. Please open the door."_

_An eternity later, the latch released and the door opened. Light, air, Erik. Her fear of the closed space and dark overwhelmed her fear of him. He did not move when she wrapped her arms around him. "My Angel of Music - my Guardian Angel." Still he did not move. _

_Head down, she released her arms. "Thank you."_

_"I am sorry you were frightened. The boat is ready. Do you have your things?"_

_"I shall just retrieve my cape."_

* * *

Andre's tardiness is not helping matters. Much as she enjoys their lessons – he, too, is a restless sort and the two of them confined in this room is becoming difficult to bear. Her sense of isolation has increased of late, she finds herself more aware of everything around her. She supposes it is the pregnancy and the child she carries. The gambling business is especially troubling – the references to Persia – Erik, Nadir and Darius each upset by the return of this Harim person.

"That settles it – no more cloistering myself here – I shall speak to Erik about it tonight," she says, "Now if the boy would just come." Her table clock chimes the quarter hour. "Damnation." Gathering her skirts, she strides to the door. "I shall box his ears when I find him," she mutters.

As she pulls the door open, the boy appears on the other side, seemingly with no intention of entering since he runs past her down the hallway. "Andre! Come back here this instant."

Hopping on one foot to stop his forward motion, he turns to face her – eyes wide, breathing heavily. "Madame Christine – I must find Madame Giry – Monsieur Firmin has been injured."

Christine rushes to catch up with him. "Where?"

"At the stage door."

"She will not be able to walk back there easily," Christine says. "I will come with you to secure the supplies you need to take to Erik."

When they reach Adele's office, the door is locked and no amount of knocking brings a response.

"Come with me," Christine says.

"We are going back to your dressing room…"

"Yes. I know another way to her office."

"Should I try to talk to her first? Like I did with you?" he asks.

Christine bites her lip, then nods. "Yes, try."

_Madame Giry are you there? It is Andre and Madame Christine._

No response.

Boy and woman exchange a look. Christine begins moving again.

"Maybe she is busy elsewhere."

"Maybe, but my Guardian Angel is telling me otherwise."

Do you think she is all right?" Now he is struggling to keep up with her.

"I hope so."

* * *

_Sur le pont d'Avignon_

_On y danse, on y danse._

_Sur le pont d'Avignon_

_On y danse, tous en rond._

"Where did you go?"

Monique stops singing and curtsies to her brother. "I could not sleep – I spent the entire day yesterday sleeping, so decided to come here instead."

Alex tosses his black bag onto a chair, sits down and exchanges his boots for tap shoes. "Do you think you are up to the dance – with a lack of sleep?'

"I suppose we shall see – I feel particularly energized today." As proof, she enters into the dance they have developed around the song they loved from childhood – always wondering exactly where Avignon was and if they would ever see the bridge.

Monique takes on the role of a flower girl, tossing flowers from the basket she carries – weaving petite jetes, pirouettes and arabesques into a gentle opening. Her path around the room is circular – Alex, shoes in place, taps and turns in the opposite direction outside her circle, picking up an odd imaginary flower.

While her dancing is graceful and elegant, his counterpoint is aggressive and quick. Both flying in their own way. Nearing the end of the choreography, Monique's movements take on more of the wild nature of Alex's dance. What begins as a pastoral scene ends with a feeling of frantic energy and a vague sense of violence.

Finishing the run through, Monique says, "Do you think Madame and M. Erik will approve of the song – our singing leaves much to be desired in demonstration, although I am certain they know the ditty. Still it does move from a child's song to something very different."

"I wonder what our dear sister, Margretta is up to now – she was the singer of our happy family."

"Do you miss our home – at all?" she asks him, taking his hand. "Not father – but the family itself – mother taking care of us. The peace of the land? We often had fun."

"I suppose I loved the learning – the books," he says as they walk to the chairs that line one of the walls. "All those hours studying inspired me to travel to new lands – to learn even more about the world."

"Was it difficult?"

"A scrawny boy with red hair?" He cocks his head, quirking an eyebrow.

"I suppose it was."

They sit down, Monique resting her head on his shoulder.

"But I was a _clever and witty_ scrawny boy with red hair."

"With a mean streak…" She ruffles the curls that match her own.

"With a very mean streak and a lack of fear."

"You are not frightened now?"

"About what?"

"Harim and Massoud – the stolen money."

"They think M. Richard took the money – so I have no fear about that," he says, standing up again, running in place. "Is there something that concerns _you_?"

"What would concern me?" Her face is blank, then shifts quickly to a bright smile. "My life is quite wonderful – everything is coming together. I have never been happier."

"Whatever you say. In any event, we must perfect this dance – I should like to show it to Madame Giry this afternoon," he says, pulling her to her feet again.

"Madame Giry – yes, we must perform perfectly for _her_ approval."

"Would you have it any other way – it does not seem so?

"She is not so perfect."

Alex cocks his head to one side, narrowing his eyes. Tap, shuffle, ball change. "De nouveau: _Sur le pont d'Avignon, On y danse, on y danse…"_

A throat being cleared from the doorway alerts them they are no longer alone. "Good morning."

"Giselle – we did not hear you enter," Alex says, flashing a quick look at Monique. "To what do we owe this pleasure?

"_Madame Giry_ wanted me to check on Monique – she heard you might be unwell."

"Who told her that?" Monique asks.

"Me." Giselle smiles broadly, arms folded as she leans against the door. "Have you recovered from your fatigue?"

"As you can see, I am perfectly fine." Monique turns a pirouette. "Feel free to let her know."

"We are so pleased you are here. You can preview our new dance," Alex says. "Perhaps you could observe and make some suggestions for scenery and costumes. Do you know the song about the bridge at Avignon?"

Monique frowns at him.

"I should be most honored," Giselles responds.

* * *

"I think Maman should know Monique did not come home again last night," Meg says, her day dress is tossed casually over the top of the screen in the corner of her dressing room.

Darius sits in the chair, legs crossed, arms folded across his chest – his face absent of any emotion. "No."

Meg peeks around the screen, then ducks behind again. "You need not be so fierce in your objection."

"What Monique does with her private life is not our concern and I refuse to upset your mother any more than she is already about Monique."

"Whatever happened to Monique was not of Maman's doing. She is practically engaged to Raoul, so I do not know why anyone should be concerned about her well-being." Meg steps out, garbed in her rehearsal dress, tying her hair back with a pink ribbon. "She may know what Alex is up to."

"We do not know where she goes. While she may know some things about Alex, I simply think you must maintain her trust, so long as you share a home," he says. "How would you feel if she was reporting on everything you were doing?"

"That is different!"

"How?" He breaks a grin. "When it comes to you, everything is different and the rules change."

Sashaying over to him, she smacks him on the knee. "Is that so?"

"It is," he says, taking her by the wrist, pulling her onto his lap. "You are a spoiled brat, my beautiful girl."

"But you love me anyway?" Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nuzzles into this neck.

"I do," he says, kissing her lightly on the forehead, he lifts her up on her feet, and stands himself. "You need to do your warm-ups."

"I should still like to say good morning to Maman, if that is all right with you."

"No mention of Monique?"

"I promise."

* * *

"Dr. Gerard, what good fortune," Erik says, wiping his hands on a towel, tossing it onto the desk. "What brings you here?"

Gerard removes his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, nodding toward the wounded man. "M. Richard."

"But, how…"

"Armand dropped Firmin off, then sent his driver for the doctor," Phillippe says, taking the doctor's coat, folding it over his arm. "Your hat?"

"Oh, right, of course," Gerard removes his bowler, hands it over to le comte then walks over to Firmin.

Nadir steps back, removing the bloody handkerchief, revealing the deep cut on the manager's nose. Refolding it, then returning it to the injury.

"Deja vu," Gerard says. "A blanket this time instead of a cloak?" He regards Raoul, standing away from the other men against a wall, the woolen throw over his arm.

"It was wrapped around him." Raoul says. "He was clutching it in his hands."

"Armand said he was feverish – going from hot to cold – insisted on coming here."

"He was gambling last night – apparently stole the bag with all the winnings from the game," Erik says. "Someone was chasing him – our interference stopped the pursuit and we took him home."

"So scared witless?" Gerard murmurs, examining the wound on Firmin's forehead. "Nasty gash. Was he conscious?"

"Could you please speak as if I am present and awake – since both are the case," Firmin grumbles. "I believe I can explain what happened better than any of you."

"Be our guest – I suppose saving your life twice within twenty-four hours matters for little," Erik says, bowing as he backs up.

Firmin's glare melts into a grimace as Dr. Gerard cleans his slashed nose. "Ouch, go easy there."

"Give him some brandy – I seem to remember there is a bottle stashed in the desk drawer," Erik says.

Nadir nods and retrieves the liquor. "No glass."

"I can drink from the bottle."

"As you wish," Nadir says, handing him the whiskey. "Not brandy, but it will suffice."

After taking a long swig, Firmin hands the bottle back to Nadir. "Thank you. To answer your earlier question – I was attacked from behind – pushed to the ground. I suppose it hit my head and blacked out for a while. When I came to – my nose was being sliced open."

"Did your attacker say anything?" Erik asks.

Firmin's look is wary, refusing to look at Erik full on, content to view him from under hooded lids.

"Well?" Nadir prompts.

"He wants 25,000 francs tonight."

"What you stole?"

"What I won. What Darius won for me. They were going to keep it. Said I owed it to them."

"Did you? Owe it to them?" Nadir asks.

"Yes."

"I suggest you pay it back, then," Erik says. "These people do not appear to be adverse to extreme physical violence."

"If I had it, I would," Firmin retorts. "The bag I took only held some books."

"Raoul?" Phillippe looks at his brother, who stares at the floor.

Erik and Nadir exchange a confused look. "Raoul?"

"If they believe you are a fool, they will cheat you. I would not want to find out what they would do if you cheated them," he says, looking up at Erik, who watches him closely. "I need to speak with you about Gregor's murder."

"I do not want to die," Firmin's eyes plead with Dr. Gerard as he grabs his waistcoat.

Removing Firmin's hands, Dr. Gerard says, "For now, you will survive. You may suffer a headache and a modicum of pain, but your wounds are not fatal." He finishes stitching up both wounds. "It would seem larger issues must be discussed, so I shall take my leave." Packing his supplies back into his bag, he asks, "Just curious – were you planning to just clean the wound and stand here with the handkerchief?"

"No – we sent Andre to fetch Adele and her kit," Nadir says. "Adele! Where is she?"

"They should have been here by now," Erik says as he and Nadir take off running down the hallway toward the dressing rooms and offices.


	14. Doors

Doors

"Andre!" Eriks holds out his arms to catch the boy running at full steam towards him. "Where have you been?"

"Where is Adele…Madame Giry?" Nadir asks, throwing his head back and throwing back his head to catch his breath.

"Do not know. We knocked…no answer…Darius…Meg came…sent me find you."

"We?"

"Madame Christine…saw…in hall…went to office…Madame Giry not there."

"Where are they now?"

"Tunnels…secret door."

"Go tell Comte Phillippe and Vicomte Raoul we are looking for Madame Giry," Erik says.

"If Dr. Gerard is still here – ask him to stay," Nadir says, mouth a straight line. "If he has left, ask Henri to fetch him back."

The boy nods vigorously and runs toward the stage door, his legs pumping so hard his flying feet come close to hitting his bottom.

"Thank God Darius showed up, I can only imagine what Christine was planning to do on her own."

"We cannot be immobilized by our fears for them – as you say, Darius is there to help," Nadir says. "Where should be begin our search?"

"Christine's dressing room is the closest – we shall start there," Erik says, walking swiftly to the door only a few steps from where they stand. "If fortune is with us – and she actually is on the path – Adele will be somewhere between here and her office. I can see no reason for her to move to the lower levels."

"Unless she was following someone…"

"Then that someone is a fool."

A giggling Meg opens the door of her dressing room, pulling up short causing Darius to stumble, pushing her into the path of Christine and Andre running toward them. "What is wrong?" he says.

"Them," she says. "Christine, where are you coming from?"

Christine's brow furrows, eyes focusing away from her friend toward Darius – turning to look behind her.

"Maman?" Meg attempts to push past her, but Christine grabs her arms.

"She is not there – or if she is, she is not responding."

"I even tried to talk to her with my special voice," Andre adds.

"Why were you looking for her?" Meg asks.

"M. Richard got hurt. M. Erik sent me to get Madame for her kit," Andre says. "Madame Christine saw me running."

"I was looking for Andre for his lesson and he told me the situation."

Meg grasps Darius' arm. "We must find her."

"Do you have the key and alarm code to her office?" Darius asks Meg.

"Yes," Meg answers, pulling a chain from her bodice holding two keys.

"Andre, please find Erik and Nadir, tell them we are in the tunnels looking for Adele," Christine says. "Tell M. Erik we used the door in my dressing room."

"Can I not look, too?" Andres pouts.

"No."

"But I want to see the secret door."

"I promise I will show you at another time – for now, please do not argue with me," she says, grabbing him by the shoulders, planting a kiss on his forehead. With a pat on his bottom, she shoos him away.

Motioning to Darius and Meg, she leads the way back to Adele's office.

"Secret door?" Darius asks, looking at Meg, who shakes her head no.

"There are a number of them – only a few of us know which rooms and where the latches are," Christine says, stopping in front of the door – stepping back to allow Meg to give them access.

"So that is how you disappeared." Meg's face brightens – her fear forgotten for the moment. "Did Uncle Erik build a secret door in your dressing room?"

Christine gives a curt nod, tapping her foot.

"So, he_ was _the Angel of Music!" Meg chortles. "I was never sure – you never said and Maman always told me to mind my business."

"This is not the time," she says, her mouth forming a moue, indicating Darius' presence with a tilt of her head." We can talk later – please just open the door."

"What are you talking about?" Darius asks.

Christine rolls her eye. "See what you started."

* * *

"_Christine – Christine – what did the Vicomte want to say to you?"_

"_Mademoiselle"_

"_Pardonnez moi – thought I saw you leave. Where is Christine?"_

"_I left to get my hat – while she changed from her costume. We were to have supper," Raoul said. "I should like to know her whereabouts as well. You are?"_

"_Meg Giry. Christine lives with my Maman – Madame Giry – and me."_

"_I see," he tapped his hat against his hand, looking around the small room for a possible hiding place. The red rose he brought as a gift – abandoned on the dressing table – attracted his attention. "It would appear she left in a rush."_

"_Are you a friend of Christine's? I do not recall her speaking of anyone."_

"_We became acquainted as children. I never thought I would see her again and, then, miraculously, there she was on the stage – singing in a voice more amazing than anything I ever heard – or might have expected from her." For a moment he returned to the memory of Christine's cadenza – stirring his heart in remembrance._

"_She studies with the Angel of Music."_

"_So she said – do you know this person?"_

"_One does not know angels, Monsieur le Vicomte."_

"_I am confused – she actually believes she is being taught by a spiritual being?"_

"_Her father promised the Angel of Music would come to her and he did. Since that time her voice has just grown and grown. It is a miracle from God."_

"_There is no angel – I suspect a scoundrel," he scoffed, running his hand along the edges of the mirror. "Is there another way out of here?" _

"_No, Monsieur – just this door," she said, indicating the door to the hallway._

"_People do not just simply disappear." Ducking behind the dressing screen offered no answers, just a bare wall. "Where is your mother – she is the dance mistress, correct?"_

"_She is. Follow me – her office is not far – just up the hallway."_

"_Mademoiselle Daae has been kidnapped and I have no intention of allowing this to go unexamined or unpunished."_

* * *

Darius takes the key from Meg, unlocks the door and leads them into the office. All appears as Adele left it – desk lamp and two smaller lamps on, papers stacked on her work table. Two empty cups and saucers on the desk, another on the coffee table. A brief look around the room reveals no Adele nor anyone else.

"The door?" He asks, turning to Christine.

Walking to the armoire, she opens the door at the bottom of the piece. A brief glance reveals it to be empty; she closes it again. "The lantern in the cabinet is missing – she is definitely using the tunnel path." Pressing her fingers against a strip of what appears to be decorative wood paneling, the panel is unlatched. Once open, she removes the lantern that hangs outside the door and lights it.

"Shall I lead the way?" Darius asks.

"Are you familiar with the interior walls of the Palais?" Christine asks.

"To be honest – no. I know the workmen use these passages, but…no, I am not."

"Then best I do so – I am perhaps more comfortable out there, than with the inner hallways," Christine says, smiling at him. "Meg, your shoes…"

"I can walk just fine in the slippers - I know the paths," Meg says, taking Darius' hand. "Maman and I used to help Uncle Erik and this was the way we went to his house."

"No," Christine says. "You know very well how dangerous it can be with solid shoes. You must stay here."

"She is my mother."

"Christine is right, Meg," Darius says, placing his hand on her shoulder. "We do not know what we will find – better you stay here."

Shrugging him off. "I do not want to stay here." Tears well up in her eyes.

"I know, my little love, but, if someone comes, you can inform them where we are."

Flopping down on the chaise, she tucks her legs under her, folding her arms – refusing to look at them.

"We shall return soon. Make some tea, for our return – your maman will appreciate it," Darius says, following Christine out, closing the panel behind them.

"Make some tea – you make some tea," she says to the closed door. Chewing on her thumb, the tears fall freely. "Be careful," she whispers.

* * *

"Is Dr. Gerard still here?" Andre calls out to Phillippe and Raoul, who still stand at the Stage Managers' office, keeping watch over M. Richard.

"What is it?" Phillippe asks, stooping down to catch the boy by his shoulders, steadying him.

"Mme. Giry missing. Mme. Christine Darius looking for her. M. Erik said get doctor," he says, struggling to catch his breath.

"Am I needed?" Dr. Gerard asks, coming out of the office.

"It would appear that Madame Giry may be injured, from what Andre tells us."

"Where is she?"

"Tunnel path. M. Erik just asked you stay."

"Is there somewhere less public?" Phillippe asks looking around.

"The rehearsal hall is close by," Raoul suggests.

"Not exactly private," Phillippe smirks, "although I do understand your desire to go there."

Giselle approaches the group gathered outside her office. "Phillippe, I am sorry to be so late – I was meeting with Alex and Monique about their new routine." Looking past him into the office, "I see M. Richard was the attack victim."

"You appear quite calm about it," Raoul says, his arms folded, leaning against a prop lamp post.

"Reynald told me someone was injured."

"But you went to spy on Alex and Monique?"

"It was being handled," she says, mirroring the folding of his arms and tilt of his head. "The work of the Opera House cannot shut down every time there is a problem on the street outside. There was no reason to believe it was a member of our staff."

"Spying?" Phillippe asks.

"She watches Monique like a hawk," he says – arms dropping, he moves away from the prop, walking up to face her directly.

"That is simply not true." Arms akimbo, she refuses to back away.

"So you were not lurking on the stairs last night when I was leaving."

Giselle laughs, her aggressive posture relaxes. "You are quite correct – I was being rude. I am sorry, Raoul," she says. "I am her friend and I am concerned about her – not because of you, but because of what she has suffered – and because of her brother."

"So, she _is_ here?" Relief is discernable on his face and in his stance.

"Yes."

"She came in with you?" The tone hopeful.

"No – which was one of the reasons I went looking for her. She was already gone when I left with Veronique." She and Phillippe exchange a look.

Dr. Gerard clears his throat. "It would serve M. Richard well to be somewhere he can rest…"

"Of course," Giselle says, "Let us take him to his office – there is a sofa we can lay him on."

"Can you walk?" Phillippe asks the manager – bandaged and patched, obviously battered, but clean and less disheveled than earlier.

Firmin nods. "Armand should be here soon – I came with him – he stopped to purchase our breakfast…"

"Andre, please go to the Managers' Office to see if M. Moncharmin has arrived," Phillippe says. "I think it would be wise not to surprise him too much when he sees his partner."

"What should I say?"

"Just that M. Richard suffered a mishap and is being brought to the office."

The boy runs off again.

Phillippe and Raoul place themselves on either side of the chair where Firmin sits, each putting a hand under an arm, they lift and assist him in walking. Giselle picks up the blanket, folding it over her arm and follows them down the hall with Dr. Gerard.

* * *

"Does Raoul know about the interior pathways?" Darius asks Christine as they step carefully. The light from the lantern is swallowed by the seemingly endless darkness. The walls blackened with tar, manage to keep the caverns relatively dry, but the smell and sense of the lake still manages to permeate up to this the first level.

"Yes," she laughs, "this search for Adele is becoming a time for recollections." Her tone is sardonic. "She actually led him all the way down to the lake that night – a lifetime ago – it truly seems so, anyway."

"So the story is true?"

"That depends upon whose version you have heard." Her voice flat. "Some say Erik kidnapped me. I suppose that appeared to be the case – but, in truth, I could not let him be killed. So when he took my hand, I went with him. Raoul followed us with Adele's help."

"She meant to harm M. Erik?" Darius slows his pace. "I cannot believe that."

Turning to look back at him, lifting the lantern so he can see her face. "Not at all – he asked her to tell Raoul where to find us – so she did."

"Raoul claimed Erik threatened to strangle him."

"Yes – but it was Raoul who arranged for him to be shot. Erik was very close to coming undone." The shiver running down her spine has nothing to do with the chill in the cavern. "We were all in a heightened state. But he would not have killed Raoul – there was no reason."

"He was a murderer, so it was possible – I know some of his history – Nadir told me things."

"Do you believe he is a murderer now?

"No."

Continuing their trek, she say, "I did not believe he was a murderer then. Which does not alter Raoul's beliefs or faded memory." Holding her arm out behind her to stop him. "There is a bend here, hold my hand, stay close to the wall, do not drag your feet even the slightest."

Moving slowly forward, Christine stops again. "I hear something."

"I, as well." Frowning, he kneels, turning his head to listen. "Breathing. Shallow breathing."

"Yes, what I thought." Lowering the lantern to lighten the area closer to the ground, she begins to walk again. "All this blackness – her clothes – her hair – she has become one with this place. It has that quality."

"She must have fallen face down and dropped her lantern."

"Adele, can you hear me?"

"I think I hear something – voices ahead of us," Darius says. "Lights as well."

* * *

Armand pushes past Andre through the door, rushing down the hallway to meet with his friend. "Firmin, what in God's name happened?"

"The money – they wanted the money."

"What do you mean?"

"I took the winnings from the café last night. It was mine – I backed Darius and he won."

"Are you insane?" Raoul exclaims.

"Let us get him into the office and settled before we begin discussing his mental state," Dr. Gerard says. "He just had two wounds sutured up and I dislike redoing a job already well done."

Once settled on the couch, Armand pours Firmin two fingers of brandy, then takes a seat at his desk – waving an arm for the others to sit down. "Now. What did you do?"

"I have been losing and owed 20,000 francs…"

"My God – more, you have already sold your carriage and who knows what else," Armand says and with those words, he face flushes deep pink, eyes bulging. "What else? Is this why I have a letter from our benefactor?" He waves a white envelope in the air. "_What else have you done_ – how much have you lost?"

"Let him finish," Phillippe says. "We can deal with the finances afterward."

"As I started to say, I have been losing when playing for myself. They allow people to bet on players. When I saw Darius, I just felt he was good, so I sponsored his play – and wagered that he would have the greatest winnings overall."

"That was risky," Phillippe grunts.

"Nothing ventured…"

Armand groans.

"I was desperate," Firmin says, sipping his drink. "And I was correct – he won." Outrage fills his face, puffing up and turning red with passion. "They were going to keep it all. I could not let that happen."

"So you took the money?" Raoul says, rolling his eyes. "How did you manage that?"

"There was a player I noticed – always carried a blue bag, like the one Massoud kept the money in. They were involved in a little _tete a tete_, paying me no mind. The bags were on the floor next to one another. I waited outside the door until the young man took his leave. When I did not hear Massoud shoot the lock, I chanced going back inside."

"That was a risk in itself," Raoul says.

"I had nothing to lose," Firmin responds. "They…Massoud and Harim said I was not to get my winnings."

"The bag was still there?"

"Yes, Massoud was gone, so I took it."

"What happened then?" Phillippe asks.

"Messrs. Saint-Rien and Khan can fill you in." Tossing down the rest of his drink, he hands the glass to the doctor and lays back on the settee. "I am exhausted, sick, in pain, terrified and in debt."

"He really should be allowed to rest," Dr. Gerard says. "Angry as you all may be with him, he was attacked and suffered trauma…and a great deal of emotional strain…"

"One more question – when you examined the bag, did you find it empty?" Raoul asks.

"Not entirely – there were books inside."

Phillippe darts a look at him. "Do you know something?"

"No – not exactly." Raoul says. "What did the young man look like?"

"Vicomte."

"Please let him answer."

"It is all right, doctor," Firmin says. "Moderate of height – thin – pale skin with dark hair and mustache. Wore all black…and a beret."

"Why are you asking this?" Phillippe persists in his questioning.

"I am not sure," Raoul says, rubbing his eyes, not returning Phillippe's stare.

"Do you know someone who looks like that?" Giselle asks.

"No – not like that," he says, rising from his chair. "I really must see Monique – to let her know I am here."

"She is in rehearsal – I told you that," Giselle says.

"Yes, you did," he responds. "I shall return shortly. Then I must speak to Erik."

"Raoul…" Phillippe says.

"Stop treating me like a child," Raoul growls. "I wish to see Monique now. I shall return as soon as I have assured her I am close by." Raising his hand to prevent further objections, he leaves the office.

* * *

"_You are my dearest love – you know," Monique smoothed the one blond lock that always falls on his forehead, refusing to behave despite his ministrations with various creams._

"_Am I? I wonder sometimes." Gathering her closer, he breathed in the scent of lilac she had taken to placing at her throat and behind her ears. Her lithe frame molded against his, settling against his chest, becoming a part of him._

"_No one has ever cared for me as you have. No one knows or appreciates you as I do. There is nothing I would not do for you."_

"_That encompasses much."_

"_Only what you deserve," she replies. "Enough talk." _

_Her sweet mouth would always dispel his doubts and fears about her professed, yet confusing love for him. He, in his turn, loved her so, supposing he, too, would do anything for her._

* * *

"Erik?"

"Christine?"

"Oh, thank God," she says. "Walk slowly, I think we must be very close to her. We can hear ragged breathing, but cannot see anything."

"Stay where you are, let us come closer, we shall need to return in that direction," he says. "Three lanterns will give enough light."

"Adele," Nadir cries out. "Please let me go first."

Erik stands back, allowing the daroga to rush past him. "Take care, my friend, I would not wish to be rescuing you as well."

"Erik, please, not now," Nadir growls, his face fierce, prepared to fight.

"You need the distraction – you are crazed with fear – I merely wish for you to slow down – keep yourself safe for her sake, if not your own."

Nadir stops to take a deep breath. "You are correct." With greater care, he moves forward – Erik close behind.

"I see her," Christine says, moving to Adele's crumpled form, lying on her side. Handing the lantern to Darius, she kneels down, cupping the older woman's head with one hand, pulling her body toward her to rest on her lap. "Adele, can you hear me? It is Christine."

Nadir reaches the two women from the opposite direction, joining Christine next to the limp form of his wife. "Adele, it is Nadir – please let me…us know you can hear?"

A soft moan escapes Adele's lips, her lashes flutter against pale skin. "Nadir?" Her voice is weak and raspy.

His tears flow unbidden and unashamed. "Praise, Allah." Gently lifting her, with Christine's help, he draws Adele onto his own lap, cradling her in his arms. "You are alive. You are alive."

"What happened? Why is it so dark?"

"We are in the tunnels, Madame – you lost your lantern."

"Is that you, Christine?"

"Yes, Madame." Christine holds the lantern so Adele can see her face.

"Hold the lantern so I can see you better – you are in the shadow."

Nadir and Christine's eyes lock.

"Darius and Erik have the lanterns – they are standing behind us. Just keep your eyes closed until we have you safely back inside," Christine says, standing up and away.

"I heard a noise. It startled me. I fell," she says, lifting her hand to the back of her head.

"Yes, my dearest one, but now you are safe with us," Nadir says.

Darius takes Christine's place closer to Adele, waiting instructions to assist Nadir.

"She is light as air, but if you could carry her…you are younger and stronger than either Erik or myself."

Darius nods. "It is I, Madame, Darius. I am going to lift you up – place your arms around my neck."

"Thank you, my son," she murmurs. "Meg is a lucky girl."

"Yes, Madame."

Nadir leads the way back to Adele's office.

Christine waits for Erik to join her as they follow. When he reaches her, she throws herself into his arms.

Pulling her close to him, rubbing her back as he kisses her forehead. "What is wrong?"

"She cannot see."

* * *

"Raoul, my man, so good to see you," Alex says, slowing the pace of his tapping, but continuing to dance, even as Monique stops and runs to meet him.

"That would be a first," Raoul responds, opening his arms to her.

She kisses him on the cheek. "I hoped you would come," she says, patting the lapels of his brown jacket and straightening his cravat.

"Phillippe and I have a meeting with Erik, but I wanted to see you first – you arrived early."

"Yes, I slept so much yesterday. I was restless last night and went to see Alex."

The tapping takes on a life of its own, tap…tap…tappedy tap, becoming a part of the conversation. "No offense, brother, but we really must work on our dancing."

"Brother, is it?"

"Monique has informed me, in no uncertain terms, that you are her one true love and I must behave accordingly," Alex smirks, as he shuffles around the couple.

"Is that so?" Raoul asks Monique.

"I have told you so," she laughs. "Do not be so serious, my love. Let us be family."

"Family. Yes." Taking her hand, he walks her to the chairs along the wall, forcing Alex to stumble back at the unexpected movement. Sitting her down, he asks, "Do you think you might wish to move your belongings to my home today?" Looking at Alex, who stands, arms folded, one leg crossed in front of the other. "After your rehearsal, of course. It is your half day."

"I believe that would be agreeable," she says, snuggling against him. "Home has a nice sound. I like that you are concerned for me."

"There was another attack in the alley this morning – I would feel much better if you were accompanied by staff coming and going from the theater."

"Having staff would be quite a luxury." Alex says, abandoning his pose, striding to the table holding a water pitcher and glasses. "An attack in the alley – one must indeed be careful coming and going."

"Who was it? Someone from the opera house?" Monique asks.

"M. Firmin Richard."

"Do you suppose it was a deliberate attack on him – or just by chance? Some thug?"

"I am sure Monique means to askif one knows why attacks are happening. It would be well not to commit the same acts," Alex says. "If it was, as they say, out of the blue, then I would like to know that as well and be prepared to fight back."

"Interesting logic."

"I think it makes sense," Monique says. "Do you know why?"

"Gambling," Raoul says.

"Oh."

"So, I shall stop by after my meeting," Raoul says, squeezing her hand as he rises. "Take care with _your _comings and goings, Alex. I would not wish my new brother come to any harm."

* * *

Nadir pushes the panel open, waving at Darius to precede him. "On the chaise. Meg, would you mind?"

Meg leaps to her feet from her place on the chaise. "Maman?"

Darius carries Adele through the door, around the desk to the lounge chair.

"Place the pillow so she can rest her head," Nadir says, looking around the room. "Is there a blanket for her?"

"What happened," Meg asks as she removes a quilt from the armoire.

Darius sets her down – then steps back so Nadir and Meg can be next to her.

Erik and Christine step into the room – Erik closing the door behind them. "Darius, could you locate Dr. Gerard? Hopefully, Andre was able to find him before he left."

"Is there anything else?"

"Ice – there is an ice box in the commissary," he says. While talking, he removes the aid kit from the armoire. Locating the willow bark tincture, he prepares a glass for her to drink. "We need to cool the area where she hit her head."

"Very good," Darius says, touching Meg lightly on the shoulder and leaves.

"Hold her upright, while I make her more comfortable," Nadir says to Meg. "She needs to be kept upright and awake." Stroking Adele's face, he asks, "Are you in any pain?"

"No…well, here…" She raises her hand to the ridge on the back of her head.

"What can I do?" Christine asks.

"Soak a cloth in some water – we can use that to help ease her discomfort," Nadir says as he undoes Adele's chignon, allowing her dark hair to fall around her shoulders, pressing his fingers lightly against the area. "No blood – at least that I can discern – anywhere else?"

"No," she replies. "Can I open my eyes now?"

The question is met with silence.

"I see – or perhaps I cannot see. Is that what has all of you tongue-tied?"

"You cannot see?" Meg exclaims.

"At the moment – no," Adele responds. "But then I have my eyes closed." The jest relieves a modicum of tension.

"Then why do you say you cannot see?"

"In the tunnel I asked Christine to bring the light to her face so I could see her – her response was odd," Adele smiles. "Dear Christine does not know how to lie."

"Could you see me at all?" Christine asks.

"An image, not very clear."

"You have likely suffered a concussion – sometimes that affects vision," Erik says. "How brave do you feel?"

Nadir wraps his arm around her, kissing her on the forehead, before taking the damp cloth from Christine, holding it against the back of her head. "It is fortunate you have such thick hair."

"And such a thick head," she chortles, grabbing his hand, she breathes deeply and slowly allows her lids to part. A gasp escapes her lips.

"What? Can you see?" Nadir asks.

"Some – not well, everything is blurred, but some."

"That is good, better than no vision at all," Erik says. "Your stomach? Nausea?"

When she shaking her head, she sucks in her breath.

"Best to keep your head still – drink this and eat some of this croissant to keep your stomach calm."

"My stomach is not anxious – it is my mind," she says, following his suggestion about the food, nonetheless.

"What were you doing? I thought you were working on the books with Veronique," Nadir says, checking the cloth. "Still no blood – I am not sure if that is bad or good. Erik?"

"We must monitor her, try to keep the swelling to a minimum," he says, thrumming his fingers on his thigh.

"In other words – wait," Adele says, relaxing against the back of the chaise, closing her eyes again.

"I need to secure my acupuncture needles," Erik announces, making his way back toward the panel door.

"What about Dr. Gerard?" Christine asks, rising to follow him.

"When he comes, he can do what he will – I must do what I can – I should have gone for them immediately."

"I shall come with you," Christine says.

"No – you can do more good here."

"Is that so?" she retorts. "I happen to disagree. Adele, do you wish my presence?"

"Go with Erik – keep him under control," Adele says. "I have my family – I shall anxiously await your return."

"Come along then, the sooner gone, the sooner we shall return."

Erik and Christine pass once again through the door to the caverns, closing it behind them.

Nadir pulls a chair next to Adele, continuing to hold her close. "What prompted you to go investigating on your own?"

"Veronique and Giselle were gossiping about Alex and Monique."

"Gossiping how?" Nadir asks.

"Oh, about Monique and Raoul. It seems that once he left last evening – she went out and did not return all night."

"That has happened quite often, Maman."

"She does not stay home at night?" Nadir asks, "You never mentioned that.

"I think she goes to stay with Alex." Meg shrugs. "I did not think it was important."

"So, then, perhaps I was wrong," Adele says.

"About what?" Nadir asks.

"I went to Alex' old dressing room – there was a cape and hat – like Erik's – hanging on the dressing screen. Giselle watched Alex move his things and locked the door herself - so those items were placed there since then."

"You think he had another key?" Nadir asks.

"Or he figured out how the mirror opens," she says. "Or our new Opera Ghost is someone else."

"Or two people." Darius says. "Sometimes it is hard to tell the two of them apart."

"Well, this new Opera Ghost appears to have wreaked a substantial amount of havoc already – perhaps he _or she_ is taking a respite from mischief for the moment," Nadir says.

"One can hope," Adele says.

* * *

Although he sets a brisk pace, Christine manages to keep up with Erik – the route now as familiar to her as it is to him. Neither speaks, simply following the familiar path – hardly thinking about where the next rough patch is or the bend requiring them to shift direction to the right or left.

Nearing the end of the journey, Erik finally speaks. "You know I want you with me always," he says, "I forgot how much these steps have become a part of you.

"I believe you wanted me to be safe, but I needed to come with you," she says, "although I realize you could move more quickly to achieve your goal and return by yourself."

"I longed for speed and it was not denied by your presence," Erik says. "I take it you wanted to speak with me about something you did not want the others to hear?"

"Yes," she says. "Not once, but twice, today, conversations led to remembrances of my most important journeys down this path with you."

"Tell me." Having reached the bottom of the last stairway, he turns to her, taking her hand and guides her to the skiff."

"I was never truly aware of how angry Raoul was when I left with you that first night – through the mirror."

"How did you become aware now?"

"Meg. Meg saw him in the dressing room. He was trying to determine how I left – running his hands up and down the sides of the mirror – looking behind the dressing screen."

"So you believe Raoul knows about the secret doors?"

"Suspects, at least."

"And may have shared that information with someone?"

"I do not know – I never consider what he does or thinks, but, Meg's story made me believe I should. He was angry that I left and insisted I had been kidnapped."

Erik laughs. "You were."

"No, I went because I wanted to be with my Angel."

Erik laughs again. "We did have a rather strange relationship."

Looking up at him over her shoulder, as he directs the boat with the oar, she says, "I like to think of it as romantic."

"You are always too kind when it comes to me, my dear – for which I will be eternally grateful," he says. "And the second incident – the journey into hell, some might say. Meg again?"

Shaking her head, she says, "Darius – repeating how Raoul told everyone you tried to kill him."

"Hmmm, Raoul again – I was not gentle with him…or you."

"He wanted the police to kill you – that is what I told Darius."

"Again, you mitigate a situation where I was on my very worst behavior." Guiding them to the shore, he secures the boat and offers his hand to help her disembark. Taking her lantern, he snuffs the light and leaves it at the edge of the boat.

"We all behaved badly," she insists.

His looks at her in wonder. "You believe that – you really believe that."

"You may have been the worst – you were certainly the loudest and the most frightening." A chuckle escapes her lips. "I know it is not funny at all, but somehow it really is."

Erik puts down his lantern. Taking her hand, he pulls her toward him and locks her in an embrace, clutching at her back, biting down on his lower lip. "Your angel became a demon."

"No – just a damaged man – hurt beyond what anyone should be meant to suffer." She presses her hands to his face and kisses him, much as she did that night.

"I am so sorry," he says.

"I am sorry as well," she replies. "Had I been honest with myself and with Raoul – that whole business need never have happened."

Detaching himself from the embrace, he asks, "So you think that Raoul is involved in these attacks?" Giving her another small kiss, before taking up the lantern again, he proceeds to the house, through the sitting room and into his laboratory off the kitchen.

"Perhaps not directly, but he knows things he is not telling us," she says, standing at the door waiting for his return.

"Phillippe is here with Raoul," he calls from the other room.

"You did not tell me," she says, her brow furrowed, stamping her foot.

"I only found out when I heard about M. Richard – he sent a note, but it was left at the Stage Manager's office," he says, coming out of the lab with a small leather case he tucks into the pocket of his jacket. Kissing her lightly on the nose. "Do not be angry with your poor husband – by the time I knew he wanted a meeting, he was already here."

Her arms find their way around his waist, and she nuzzles his neck. "Forgive me – I am becoming a shrew."

"Not at all," he returns the hug, but cuts it short. "Come, I must attend to Adele."

"Oh, dear, I nearly forgot in my concern about the secret doors."

"They seem to be a big part of these attacks," he says, guiding her with his hand on her back. "There is so much foolishness going on that has turned vicious. We are going to be parents and have no need for this in our lives," he grumbles.

Tucking her skirts around her, she settles in. "Adele will be all right, will she not?"

Pushing off from the shore, he says, "With Dr. Gerard's skills – my own – and Nadir's love – I hope so. You might want to put a word in with your god, as well."

* * *

A/N - a special thank you to tasteofthebitchpudding for her suggestion about how impending fatherhood might be affecting Erik's way of looking at current events.


	15. Bridges

Bridges

Erik unlatches the mirrored panel in the Security office, allowing Christine to pass, before securing it behind them. "It is best that we enter Adele's office the normal way. I am still wary of too many people knowing about the secret panels," he says in reply to Christine's quizzical look.

"You mean Dr. Gerard?"

"Honorable as he may be…"

"No need to explain, but let us hurry," she says. "Do you think the acupuncture will help?"

"She says her vision is fuzzy – she could have something called diplopia or double vision – in which case, yes, I am certain it will likely cure with a few treatments."

When he opens the door to the hall passage, they find Phillippe and Raoul standing outside, leaning against opposite walls – the appearance startling each of them. The nobles stand bolt upright at the sight of the couple. For their part, Christine and Erik pull back, Christine pressing her hand to her chest to calm her quickening heartbeat.

Erik chuckles as he puts an arm around her. "So much for maintaining secrets."

"Were you in there all this time?" Phillippe asks. "We did not bother to knock – thinking you were with Madame Giry elsewhere."

"We were most definitely elsewhere."

"So there are secret doors and passages," Raoul says. "I always thought so, but was never able to confirm their existence."

"The paths and passages were created when the Palais was built – a suggestion of mine, I might add – to enable workmen better access to mechanicals. This also kept the workers and mundane realities from public view."

"Even the secret doors?"

"No – there are a number of entrances to the lower levels for the staff backstage – I believe you used one of them once."

"Fascinating," Phillippe says.

"I really must attend to Adele," he says. "Christine would you care to remain with le Comte and Vicomte until I return?"

Assessing the situation quickly, looking first at the brothers, then into the office, she nods her acquiescence. "Please hurry back. I should like to know how she is doing."

Squeezing her shoulder, he says, "You have my word."

With one further look at Erik as he jogs down the hall, Christine follows the men into the security office, closing the door behind them.

"Please sit down," Christine says, indicating the settee closest to Erik's side of the partners' desk. "I imagine Nadir prepared tea, but it is probably cold."

Walking to the hutch, she finds the water kettle still hot, but adds more water and turns the hot plate on again. Taking her time, she empties the undrunk tea, and refreshes the tea ball. Clean cups and saucers and a plate of walnut cookies use up a decent amount of time. The sound of water boiling puts an end to the preparations and Christine turns, holding the tray of refreshment for her guests to see. Placing the tray on the coffee table in front of them, she takes a cup for herself and sits opposite them on the tan settee.

Phillippe and Raoul follow her lead and when they are all settled, the only sound is the rattle of spoons against the fine china Adele insisted on furnishing to the office.

"I am happy that Madame Giry was found," Phillippe says. "The size of this building offers many places one can get lost in – particularly when you include the lower levels."

"Yes, the tunnels can be particularly dangerous – the light being so limited."

"While Erik did not precisely answer – I suspect there are a number of secret doors and Madame Giry was moving between two of them?"

"As Erik expressed, there are a number of ways to access the inner pathways – how or why she was there, I do not know."

"But that is where she was found?"

Christine nods.

"Who found her?" Raoul asks.

"I did." Her eyes challenge him. "Darius was with me."

"You must have been terribly frightened," he says. "Is she all right – Erik was quite determined to get back to her."

"She is unable to see clearly – she hit her head when she fell. He is going to perform acupuncture."

"I am sorry – she has always been so good to you and, now, Monique."

"And to you?"

"Of course." Raoul's eyes widen, "Why would I think otherwise?"

"No reason." Placing her cup on the side table, she folds her hands in her lap and offers each of them a thin smile.

"Mme. Saint-Rien, while I seem to have made peace with Erik – the discovery that we are cousins was a pleasant surprise to me, I must admit – I am aware we have never reconciled from our meeting at Madame Giry's home."

"No, we have not," she says, "and I am not certain this is the time or place to revisit that time."

Raoul starts to rise, "Christine."

Raising her hand to him, she says, "Please stay seated, Raoul. Every time you want to make amends, you lay hands on me. I have no need or desire for your comfort…or" directing her comment to Phillippe "… your apologies."

Rising from the sofa, she paces the floor in front of them. "In fact, I cannot help but feel that all this violence now is somehow related to Raoul. All the disruptions lately have his mark on them."

"Madame…" Phillippe says.

"My name is Christine – you need not be so formal with me, le Comte," she says. "At one time you thought me a common trollop."

"Phillippe, please. Please." His tone gentle. "As I recall, you informed me to the contrary," he replies with a soft smile.

"With no apology and only relief that I was not pregnant with Raoul's child." Tears well in her eyes.

"Madame…Christine. I am so very sorry – for what you have suffered from my family," Phillippe says, standing slowly, before approaching her. "You are deeply upset for your friend, are you not?"

She nods as the tears begin to flow.

Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he hands it to her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you," she says, moving away from him – back to the settee, dabbing her tears.

"Would you prefer we wait somewhere else?"

"No – this is best," she says. "Erik will return soon."

"Christine?" Raoul says.

"Yes," she says with pursed lips – her hands folded on her lap, cocking her head.

"I fear you may be correct – about my being at least partly responsible for some of the current violence," he says. "That is why my brother and I came to see Erik."

* * *

"How much do you owe?" Phillippe asks Firmin, as he paces the room, pounding a fist against his thigh.

"20,000 francs, but I was instructed to repay 25,000 – the winnings for the night." Firmin refuses to look at Phillippe.

"What funds do you have available?"

"Nothing." Firmin's body folds even more deeply into the sofa.

Phillippe looks at Raoul, raising an eyebrow, waving his hand in the direction of the manager. "Is this what you want for yourself?"

Raoul bows his head, shaking it.

"I have tried to stop him…" Armand offers. His own posture collapsing behind the mahogany desk.

"Shut up – am I not suffering enough humiliation?"

"You are going to be killed if you do not stop," Armand says, wagging his finger at the wounded man.

Firmin's laugh is bitter. "I was told that they cannot collect money from dead men."

"They could kill you after you pay, you fool," Armand retorts. "What do you think happened with Gregor?"

"He was not robbed, if you recall. They left the money – scattered it around his body," Firmin pouts.

"Do you have any funds?"

Firmin shifts his eyes to Armand, who refuses to meet them.

"I see. You already have your hand in the till."

"It is a sickness, Phillippe," Raoul says.

"Yes, one of many," Phillippe replies, standing, putting his hat on. "When do you need the money?"

"They will let me know – a message will be left."

"By whom?"

He shrugs.

"Somehow the messages always arrive," Raoul says. "It is as if we are being watched."

"The Opera Ghost," Armand says.

"Someone impersonating the Phantom – someone who is familiar with the theater," Phillippe says.

"Reynald?"

"No, my sister said he has not been in contact with anyone."

"I think we shall handle things differently this time."

* * *

Dr. Gerard smiles when Erik enters Adele's office. "I understand you are familiar with acupuncture." Closing his bag, he vacates the chair next to the chaise.

Erik pulls his the leather case from his pocket, holding it up for him to see as he sits down in the chair. "How are you feeling, Adele?"

"I almost expected you to ask the doctor that question," she chuckles. "I am actually feeling fine everything considered."

"Your vision?"

"Fuzzy – some double images" is her response. "Much as I love my husband and daughter, I am not certain I wish to view them in pairs."

"In the case of Nadir, I can certainly understand your concern," Erik says.

Nadir rolls his eyes. "And I was concerned that you were not here."

Erik turns to Dr. Gerard. "Are you finished with your examination, doctor?"

"Yes," he says. "There is little more I can do that has not already been done. A bump at the back of her head, but no open wound. It is likely her hair prevented more damage."

Adele laughs.

"Did I say something funny?"

"No – I joked earlier that I also had a thick head."

"One of God's gifts to all of us – protection for our brains – although you likely damaged the area around the optic nerve. Thankfully you still have your sight, however, distorted it may be right now."

"Can your needles help, Erik?" she asks, the break in her voice giving lie to her earlier humor.

"In all likelihood – a few treatments." He opens the case and lays it on the coffee table that has been pushed to one side.

"Then, please begin."

"Nadir, you may wish to stay, but if everyone else could leave, I can place the needles," Erik says. "Meg could you get me the alcohol from the aid kit?"

"Yes, of course." She jumps up and secures the small box from Adele's desk. "Where is Christine?"

"With the Chagnys in my office."

"Was that wise?" Nadir asks.

"It was necessary – however, I am certain my lady will be able to handle the upper crust without too much difficulty," he chuckles. "Especially now that they are family."

"I believe I shall take my leave," Dr. Gerard says. "The brothers can fill you in on M. Richard's condition."

* * *

"You are really going to move to the royal house of de Chagny?" Alex asks. "I thought all the nobility business our father was so enthralled with was anathema to you."

"A woman can change her mind – our noble status is what has me welcomed to that house," Monique responds. "Something Christine did not possess."

"Christine – the wife of our masked Artistic Director come detective and whatever else he claims?" Alex finds it impossible to keep his feet from moving, even when standing in place, his toes tap.

"You really should spend more time listening to the gossip instead of being so curious about secret passages and taking advantage of the workmen with your games of chance." Facing him, she pushes down on his shoulders. "Stand still – you are driving me mad."

Shrugging her off, he flops down on a chair, crossing one leg over the other. "What is wrong with giving them a smidgen of hope of riches? As the saying goes: 'a fool and his money are soon parted.' The money would be squandered anyway – why should I not be the beneficiary?"

"What of the enforcement, as you call it?" she asks, sitting down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"One must pay one's debts – is that not the honorable thing to do? I merely encourage people to do the right thing." Leaning back, he drapes an arm loosely over her shoulders.

"So you are not curious about Erik and Christine?" Taking his hand in hers, she presses them together. "Our hands are the same size – did you know that?"

"No to both of your questions," he says. " I do know he was the infamous Phantom who terrorized the Opera House."

"Christine was engaged to Raoul and Erik kidnapped her."

"This suggests to me that her feelings toward your beau were not very strong if she is now married to her kidnapper and – if I am any judge of anatomy – pregnant with his child."

"Raoul almost died."

"Of fright, no doubt – or from drowning in a torrent of tears," Alex cackles.

"I love him," Monique insists, thrusting his hand away.

"Then you should be grateful Christine made the choice she did. Erik did not kill him and Raoul is now your beloved," he says, getting up again. "I believe you love him – what I do not understand is why."

"He needs me to love him – to hold him in esteem." The explanation matter of fact, devoid of emotion.

"Do you…hold him in esteem?"

"He has never betrayed me. And everywhere he turns, the world betrays him."

"The world is too harsh a place for the Vicomte and only death will free him from his suffering," Alex says, kneeling in front of her. "He is a walking victim, just like the men you accuse me of stealing from – some people are better off dead."

"That is not true."

"There will come a time when he will have to make a choice between you and his own skin."

"No." Pushing him back. "You are just jealous."

Alex laughs, bracing himself with his hands, he slides back, stretching out his legs in front of him. "No, my sister – I love you – we shared our mother's womb – we are bound to one another in a way no other human being can challenge."

"You left."

"Yes, you have said that before. I wish it had been different – that does not mean I stopped loving you, but I had to save my life."

"Which is what you are claiming Raoul will do."

"There are some people in this world who will sacrifice their own life for the love of another," Alex says. "Sadly, I am not one of them and I do not believe Raoul is either."

"I am – I would…sacrifice for him."

"He is not worth it," Alex says, getting back on his feet. "Come, let us dance. We can agree on that, at least."

* * *

Upon leaving Adele's office, Erik finds Meg and Darius waiting for him in the hallway. Meg's head rests on Darius' chest as he rocks her, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"For this treatment I shall leave the needles in for about thirty minutes," Erik tells them. "Nadir will remain with her until I return from my meeting with Phillippe and Raoul."

"I think I will go to the rehearsal hall to burn off some of my energy," Meg says. "Knowing Maman, I am certain she would agree I need the practice." Laughing lightly, she kisses Darius on the cheek and scurries down the hall. "Thank you, Uncle Erik," she says over her shoulder.

"I shall do my best for her," he calls out, shaking his head in amusement. "She is always in motion."

"That is so, I think being confined while waiting for Christine's and my return was difficult for her – waiting out here could easily turn unpleasant, I fear," Darius says. "I am glad she decided to dance."

"Come with me – I want you to hear whatever it is that the Chagnys wish to discuss."

"Do you suppose Raoul is now willing to tell us more about his cloak?" Darius asks as they walk. The two men once again fall into step – similar in height and build – indistinguishable from the rear.

"One can hope," Erik says as they reach the door. Opening it, he allows Darius to pass in front of him to Nadir's chair. Christine, Phillippe and Raoul look up in unison, roused from whatever private thoughts engaged them while waiting.

Christine asks, "How is she?"

Walking to where she sits, he stands next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly – looking down at her with the barest smile on his lips. Erik relays Dr. Gerard's findings and his need to return in half an hour to remove the needles of the first treatment. "We shall have to wait and see – until then, she is in good humor and safe."

"Thank you for taking the time to see us," Phillippe says.

"Of course," Erik replies. "Darius, tea?" He says, moving from Christine's side to the hutch. I am parched."

The refreshments settled. Erik sits next to Christine. "So?"

When he finishes his explanation about the cloak, Phillippe pats his brother on the back. "I am proud of you."

"There is more," Raoul says.

"You stabbed Gregor?" Erik smirks.

"Erik?" Christine says, slapping his knee.

"We already suspected something like what the Vicomte described," Darius interjects. "It is not unusual for people to barter or sell something to pay a gambling debt or to place a new wager."

"Is that what happened to Firmin?" Christine asks.

"Precisely."

"I believe that we should handle returning the stolen money to the café – not wait for some sort of notice," Phillippe says. "They will have their money and call off…" he eyes cut to Raoul "whomever the person is."

"Who is going to finance this return?" Erik asks. "Let me guess…you?"

"He intimated he was embezzling – is this true?"

"Yes. I have Adele and Veronique going over the books."

"All the more reason – cut the losses."

"How will you pay the money?"

"Through my bank. I have already sent them a formal letter through a private messenger – no hands on, no threat."

"And you believe this will be honored?"

"I also sent a letter to Inspector Marquand."

"You are most generous," Erik says. "May I ask why?"

* * *

"_Where am I to go – where can I hide?"_

"_We shall go to my house in the country," Armand says. "Stay out of sight for a week or so." Pulling a piece of stationary from the desk, he said, "Here is the address, le Comte."_

_Phillippe folded the note a placed it in pocket of his waistcoat. "I shall let you know when you may return – although it is up to M. Saint-Rien as to whether you will be welcomed back here again."_

"_You are most kind," Firmin said._

"_I do not wish any dead bodies on my head – it is worth the money."_

* * *

"What about the person they use to collect the debts?" Christine asks. "The café owner may have the money, but how do you know he can or will let that person know?"

"I believe that Alex is the enforcer," Raoul says. "I think if he can be made to know the money has been replaced – either from Massoud or overhearing a conversation – that would be the end of Firmin's predicament."

"Again, not a surprise – do you believe he is the murderer of Gregor?" Darius asks.

"Yes…No…I am not certain."

"Then who?" Phillippe asks. "Certainly not Reynald."

"Monique," Erik says, directing this at Raoul – his one unusually gentle speaking to his past rival. Even the amber eyes soften – recognizing the difficulty Raoul must be experiencing with this recognition.

Raoul nods. "One or the other of them – or both."

"Why would you say that?" Christine turns to Erik, her face flushed – she has been a victim. She saved your life. "And you – why would you think that?" she asks Raoul.

"Do you think I am pleased to have these thoughts?" He says, his own ire rising, the pale blue eyes icy. "I did not know her before her abduction – I only know and love a woman who was deeply hurt. I wish I could say she has healed."

"She is fragile – delicate."

"Not physically. Neither is he even though they appear to be. I watched them for hours at a time – both are tireless and strong. When Firmin described the young gambler, the bag, the flirtation – it became so clear."

"But why?"

"She loves me. God help me – she loves me."

* * *

"_Did you recover your winnings?"_

_The sound of porcelain crashing against the wall startled her. "What on earth, Raoul? Madame will have your head."_

"_She will have to stand in line – although it is not worth much these days."_

"_Gregor did not pay you?"_

"_He did not place my wager – he never placed any of my wagers."_

"_How is that possible?"_

"_I always lose." His laugh was mirthless. Ignoring the rest of the china sitting on the dining table, he satisfied his rage with the pounding of his fists against the carved wood. _

"_What a horrid man – what did you do?"_

"_Nothing. What could I do? Kill him? It would not get my money back – or my pride."_

"_You are too good."_

"_I am too weak."_

"_No – not that, never that. Just too good and kind."_

* * *

Meg closes the door to the rehearsal hall behind her. The room is empty – none of the dancers making an effort to rehearse. "Nicole?" she calls out. "Anyone?"

"Meg, you are still here? I thought everyone would be gone by now," Monique says, her rehearsal costume replaced by a yellow morning dress. She wipes her hands on a piece of toweling and without bothering to straighten or fold the cloth, jams it into her duffel bag.

"Still using Raoul's bag, I see."

"What?"

"You said he took your case by mistake."

"Right. Yes, he has not returned it," Monique says. "This is fine – there was nothing in the other except for books I never seem to read."

"Where is Alex?"

Monique glances behind her, then returns to her focus on Meg. "He left. We finished to his satisfaction. I am simply waiting for Raoul."

"I believe he is waiting with his brother to see Erik," Meg says. "Uncle Erik is treating Maman."

"Yes, he said he had a meeting." Monique turns away from her, checking her bag before closing it. "We are planning to move my things today."

"Move? Really? You never said," Meg says, following after her. "Is there something wrong – have I offended you? I never meant to…"

"No. I just feel it is time." Turning once again to face Meg, standing in front of the duffle.

"Well, that is wonderful," Meg says, taking Monique's hands and twirling them around in a circle. "I am so happy for you."

"Yes," Monique says. "I suppose it is a matter of happiness, is it not?"

"Of course." Meg laughs, giving the lithe redhead a hug. "We should tell Maman…." The momentary brightness fades. "Perhaps another time."

"I am sorry – you said Erik was treating her – for what?"

"Maman had an accident."

"Was she badly hurt?"

"We are not certain. Her vision has been affected."

"Really? That is terrible," Monique pulls Meg back into the hug, stroking her back. "Your Maman and M. Richard."

"M. Richard was attacked," Meg says. "Maman fell – she said nothing about being assaulted."

"Of course – still, two people hurt in one morning."

Meg pulls away and begins to fidget. "I was going to do some exercises – I would ask you to join me, but I see you are already changed. I feel if I do not move, I will explode."

"I really must go, I recall now that I am to meet Raoul in my dressing room." Picking up her bag, she strides to the door. "I would not want him to be concerned."

"Too bad," Meg says, moving to the barre. "I hope I return home before you are gone – but we shall see one another here." Monique's image in the mirror, taking her leave, brings a bout of tears. Running to catch up with her, Meg takes Monique by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "I shall miss your company." Intending to place a kiss on her friend's cheek, she stops – a frown wrinkles her brow.

"What is it?"

"You have a mark on your neck." Wetting her thumb with her tongue, she rubs the smudge under Monique's chin. "Did you injure yourself? This looks like blood," she says, showing Monique.

Monique strokes the area Meg indicated. "I must have touched my neck after tending to my foot. A blister opened and began to bleed – that is why we stopped rehearsing."

"Did you clean it well – there is an aid kit back here…" Meg moves toward the storage closet.

Monique grabs her by the arm. "Yes, I know, dear Meg. I used the kit. I have suffered worse."

"Of course." Meg nods, rocking on her feet. "I just hate the idea of you being hurt – in any way, even by a silly blister."

"You tend to your mother – I shall be fine."

"I may as well walk out with you – perhaps I will bother Giselle – this room is too empty right now."

"Good idea. It can be quite drear when empty."

* * *

Nadir turns off all but one small lamp in the room after Erik leaves. Taking the chair next to Adele, he folds his hands in his lap, gazing down at the pale oval face pierced with several needles. Each carefully placed to hopefully restore her sight to the fullest.

She reaches a hand toward him.

Nadir pulls away. "Erik said I should not touch you – it may upset your qi while the healing is taking place."

"I did not know." Mildly chastened, she returns the hand to her chest, resting it on the other.

Leaning into her, without making contact, he smiles. "I did not mean to be abrupt – how would you know?"

"What is qi?"

"Life force – the needles stimulate your own energy to heal the damage."

"Do you believe this will work?"

"I have seen it used before."

"With Reza?"

"Yes. I believe he had a longer life thanks to Erik's efforts – then when it was time, Erik gave him a painless death."

"Nadir, I had no idea." Her eyes fly open, she turns her head to look at him.

"Not now, my dearest," he says, with thumb and fingertips on her chin, shifts her head back as it was. "I am at peace in my heart – it would do neither of us any good should you become upset. Now you must rest."

"You will tell me, though?" she asks, closing her eyes again.

* * *

_Small moans echoed from behind the curtain of the bedroom in the small house Erik, Nadir and Reza shared during a brief respite from the palace._

"_Papa, my arms hurt – I cannot sleep," the boy called out, tears breaking up his speech._

_Erik looks up from the book he has been reading – taking advantage of the peace and calm of this visit to Mazandaran. "Nadir?"_

"_It is worse at night – during the day, he is able to manage…" Nadir said, rising from his chair._

"_The leukemia is progressing…"_

"_Is there anything you can do? Herbs, your homeopathy?" he asked, before joining his son._

"_No more than I am already using, that would be more damaging. I can apply some acupuncture to help relieve the pain in his joints – with your permission, of course."_

"_Whatever you can do. I cannot bear to see him suffer so."_

_Erik nodded, retrieved his leather wallet of needles, then went to see the small boy – pale and fragile, cheeks wet with tears. _

_The boy's face brightened as Erik sat down next to him on the cot – Nadir having moved to the window. "Are you going to sing to me?"_

"_I could do that – and I shall," Erik replied. "First, though, would you be willing to have me stick you with some needles if it would help your pain?"_

_Reza's large brown eyes, grew ever larger at the idea. "Will it hurt?" His full lips quivered. _

"_Only if I make a mistake and you know I seldom make mistakes."_

_Nadir allowed himself a small smile at the two of them – his beloved boys._

"_You never do."_

"_Not that I would tell you."_

_The boy giggled. "All right," he said._

* * *

"Of course – whatever you wish to know." He touches a knuckle to the corner of his eye.

The small ormolu clock, sitting on the desk chimes the half hour, breaking the silence of their wait.

"Someone was following me today – I felt him pass me after I fell."

"Him?"

"I did not sense skirts."

"Why did you go to the dressing room?"

"Curiosity – anxiety. This is about more than gambling debts."

"Do you think this someone was in the room with you?"

"It is possible – when I saw the garments, I left."

"Rest now – allow the healing to take place."

"I am afraid."

"I know."

* * *

Giselle starts when Meg sticks her head into the window above her desk, creating a similar reaction in the younger girl.

Meg giggles. "Did I frighten you?" she asks. "I am at sixes and sevens and unable to find a place to light."

Giselle's own laugh is nervous. "You are indeed like a sparrow, flitting about all the time under the best of circumstances. Come in here with me – we can comfort each other."

"Are you out of sorts, too?" Meg asks, walking around the wall to the door of the small office. "You seem so calm all the time."

"Come sit down." Giselle indicates the stool next to her desk. "It is all a ruse. My father, in his deep desire for a son, would not allow me to show behaviors he considered weak and unseemly."

"Like crying?"

"Yes – and fear, especially fear."

"Are you afraid now?"

"Anxious – mostly curious – but concerned," she says. "Da would call that foolishness as well. My Ma would say she had a feeling about something and he would put her off. Then when it happened, he would say it was a lucky guess."

"I have feelings now, too. This is how it was when everyone was afraid of the Opera Ghost – only worse," Meg says. "I knew who the Phantom was, even if no one else did."

"Is there anything or anyone in particular concerning you?"

"Monique and Alex. Mostly Alex because he is new to me – but Monique concerns me, too."

Giselle cocks her head.

"When I am with her, it is as if she is partly somewhere else – does that make sense?"

"Yes, I get that feeling as well – her thoughts wander."

"Just now we were talking and I noticed blood on her chin."

Giselle frowns.

"She said a blister broke and was bleeding – but how did she get the blood on her chin? And she seemed edgy herself – forgot she was supposed to meet with Raoul in her dressing room, but she was already changed. Why did she return to the rehearsal hall – did she come back to tend her foot? And she has Raoul's bag with his dancing gear…"

"Dancing gear?"

"Yes, she told me the other day that he was training to dance."

Giselle chuffs. "I should like to see that."

"Me, too," Meg says. "He has never danced here – much less in tights and ballet slippers. I wanted to do some exercises, but like I said, she had already changed her clothes. Said Alex was fine with their rehearsal and left."

"I did not see him leave," Giselle says. "We had a set to earlier and I can understand him avoiding me – but I have been here since."

"Now I am even more anxious," Meg says. "Where did he go?"

"Yes – where?"

* * *

The meeting over, the Chagny prepare to take their leave, setting empty cups on the coffee table, putting on hats – saying their good-byes. Erik rises from the settee to accompany them to the door.

"Giselle has agreed to having lunch – although she says this is her half-day, she wants to return to work," Phillippe says, putting on his top hat. "I shall check back in with you, however, upon our return to see how Madame Giry is faring, if that suits you."

"That would be fine," Erik says.

"Monique has agreed to move her things – I am meeting her in her dressing room," Raoul says. "I am surprised she suggested it, but will take advantage of my good fortune while she is willing."

"After what you have just told us, you plan to go through with that?" Phillippe asks, pressing his hand against Raoul's chest, stopping their progress out the door.

"As far as we know, she has done nothing untoward," Raoul says, shrugging him off, "and if she has, changing our plans would create suspicion. She is not likely to harm me." Taking his brother by the shoulder, he says, "It will all work out, Phillippe – I am determined."

Phillippe sighs. "I wish I could trust your judgment – but there is some logic to what you say."

Rising from behind the desk, Darius follows their lead. "I hope I do not have to search the entire Palais in finding her," Darius says of Meg. "I should like to see her costume changed, get her fed and take her for a walk in the Bois to calm her," he says in an attempt at humor. "Stopping to see Madame first, of course."

"We will see you shortly," Erik says, checking his pocket watch. "There is still some time before the needles are to be removed."

"Then we shall come after the walk," Darius says. "I suspect rest would be recommended after a treatment."

"Later would be better," Erik says.

"Very well, then."

The door closed and locked behind them. "They are gone." Erik returns to Christine, flopping on the sofa, pulling her on top of him, their faces buried in one another's neck. "I think I could stay like this forever, feeling your warmth, breathing in your scent – gardenias, today, hmm – loving you."

"It is wonderful to escape from the world for a brief time," she says, snuggling closer to him. "Who would have thought something mundane as playing card games should become so dark and evil?"

"Money, my dear, will almost always bring out the darkness – greed is one of the seven deadly sins, after all," Erik says, sitting up straighter, adjusting her on his lap. "The wagering problem has been addressed by Phillippe – I hope that is the end of it – we shall see."

"I am worried about Monique," Christine says, resting her head on his shoulder. "Do you think Raoul is right about her? I always wonder about his ego – my impression of her is she finds him a nuisance – he is the one obsessed."

"The most logical conclusion, I agree," Erik chuckles, toying with the ribbons on her dress. "However, we certainly do not act out our most intimate feelings in front of others."

Christine's cheeks flush. "Just that once on stage."

It is Erik's turn to feel the warmth of embarrassment creep over his pale flesh. "You are very hard to resist, Madame." Recreating those movements, his hand runs up her thigh, across her crotch, to her waist, then over her breast.

Sucking in her breath, she says. "You are being naughty…do we have time?"

"Alas, no."

"Then you deserve to be punished," she says, stroking him in the same way, lingering on his arousal. "If I must contain my desire, then so must you."

"Cruel woman, my desire is more difficult to disguise. Perhaps we can deal with this, um, distress in an expeditious manner," he says, lifting up her skirts, finding the opening in her drawers.

Undoing his trousers, she says, straddling him, taking his member inside her. "I believe I like your idea."

"Yes, this will do nicely," he says. "Quite nicely."


	16. Crossed and Burned

Crossed and Burned

"Just breathe in and out, simply, quietly," Erik tells Adele as he removes the needles. "This is the easy part."

Christine wipes each one with a cloth after dipping it in alcohol before replacing them in the leather case. "All the holders are full."

"Good, I have not left any behind to surprise you." Resting his hand over her eyes, the other resting just below her breasts, he closes his eyes for a moment. Standing he draws a circular symbol over her body three times, then claps his hands three times.

"What was that?" Nadir asks.

"Reiki healing – one cannot have too many spiritual healing remedies when dealing with illness," Erik says.

"You never told me of this."

"I used everything within my scope of learning for Reza, my friend – I would do no less now for Adele."

"What about yourself?" Christine asks, handing him the case that he returns to his pocket.

"Why do you think I learned all of this? On the way to trying to change my condition, shall we call it, I learned to heal. At one point, the path changed, perhaps now I am finding my way back."

"Can I open my eyes now?" Adele asks. Her tone is hesitant – she reaches out for Nadir's hand.

Taking it in his, he looks to Erik.

"Slowly."

Adele licks her lips, releasing a deep sigh. Her dark lashes flutter as she slowly opens her eye. "Perhaps more light," she says.

Erik nods to Christine, who turns on another lamp.

"How is it now?"

Adele shakes her head. "Much the same as before – perhaps a little more clarity – color."

"This may take several more treatments," Erik says. "What of pain – has the pain diminished?"

Shifting her head slowly from side to side, she smiles, "The pain has lessened – just an ache at the back of my head."

"I suspect that once the bruising goes down in that area, the healing will take place much faster. For now, you need to rest."

"Would you want to go home?" Nadir asks.

"First I must see Meg – is she here?"

"Darius was going to bring her here after taking her to luncheon and for a short walk – to calm her down," Christine says, allowing a small laugh to color her voice.

"Food sounds good," Adele says. "Happily my appetite is not ruined by all of this."

"Shall we visit our friend's café?" Erik says. "I can fill you in on Phillippe and the salvation of Firmin Richard."

* * *

Andre tap dances across the stage toward the Manager's office.

"Alex?" Giselle calls out."

"No – Andre," the boy answers. "I have been looking for him – he was supposed to give me a lesson." The boy does a number of shuffles, taps and heel clicks.

"Wow," Meg says, "You have certainly picked that up fast."

"Alex says I am a natural."

"I would say so," says Giselle. "Is there anything you cannot do? You are becoming quite terrifying."

"I like to practice – I want my own show here at the Palais Garnier."

"That is quite a noble desire," Meg says. "The way you are learning, I am certain that your wish will come true."

"I hope so."

"In the meantime, I think I left my bag in the rehearsal hall – to be honest, I do not remember where I left it, but that is where I was last – I want to change my shoes."

"Do you want me to fetch it for you?"

"If you would."

The boy rushes off, belting:

"_Pretty kitty, oh so sweet."_

"_Begs for kisses, Begs for treats."_

"_Oooooo."_

Tossing in a few heel kicks as he runs his errand.

"Dear Lord, what is that song?" Giselle asks.

"Uncle Erik wrote an opera – some of the songs are being using in this show – but some of them are, well, silly," Meg says. "Andre really liked that one, so Alex taught him a dance."

"What would we ever do without him?" Giselle says, shaking her head.

"Uncle Erik would have fits if he heard him singing that song, though."

"Oh, I doubt it – Andre has everyone bewitched," Giselle says.

"We shall soon find out – Andre plans to show it to him, once Alex gives his approval."

"Christine knows?"

"Yes, she changed some of the lyrics – the song, as it was written, is quite racy."

"How?"

"She changed it to be about Andre's cat, Erika. Alex taught one of the ballet rats some tapping steps – so she is dressed up as a cat with Andre singing to her.

"He does love that kitty."

* * *

"_And what is Miss Erika up to this evening?"_

"_She is instructing me in the fine art of making biscuits." Andre moved his arms encircling the little tuxedo cat with a half mask to reveal white mittened paws push and pull against his shallow chest, loud purrs accompanying her determined activity._

"_She thinks you are her momma."_

"_Well, I am trying to be a good poppa to her – although her nails kind of hurt me."_

"_I shall check with the farrier to see if he has some nippers we can use to clip her claws."_

"_There is such a thing?"_

"_We can find out."_

"_Oh, that would be wonderful."_

"_Andre?"_

"_Yes, Mlle. Giselle." His large brown eyes wide awaiting her question._

"_Are you ever sad?"_

_Cocking his head, he pondered the question. "No. Maman says it would be a sin to be sad when we have so much to be grateful for."_

"_Even so…"_

"_Do you think I should be sad?"_

"_No – I suppose not."_

"_I suppose I am sad when Erika scratches me, but if we can get those nippers, I would be perfectly happy."_

* * *

"You have similar qualities, you know," Giselle says. "You have the ability to make people feel better about things."

"Things?"

"I believe the word is guileless – you are pure of spirit, Meg Giry. A rare commodity."

"So I am not just silly and foolish?"

"Some might call it that – those who love you know better."

"Well, how about that?" Meg says, tilting her head to one side, framing her face in her hands.

"Yes…ah, look who is coming to see us."

* * *

Catching sight of himself in the mirror – he throws his arms out, belting,_ "Pretty kitty, says Meooooow…_"

"Andre?"

The words are barely a whisper. Andre is not even certain they are words at all, but simply one of the random drafts flowing through the theater to feed the renewed rumors of a ghost.

"Is someone here?" He calls out – a quaver in his voice.

"Help. Me." The rasp appears to come from the storage area.

Heart racing, the boy crosses the dance floor with unusual caution – wary of the voice and what it portends. "Who are you?"

"Alex...help me."

Following the voice, Andre increases his pace to a sprint, jogging toward the rear of the large hall to the screened area behind the mirrors.

"Where are you?" His eyes narrow, adjusting to the dim lighting.

A bloody hand appears from under several layers of scrim. "Here."

Andre moves cautiously to the mound, removing the scrim until Alex' body is revealed – the tan plaid jacket unrecognizable for the blood soaked into the fabric. The dancer presses some of the screening fabric against his chest to stanch the bleeding.

The boy gulps, his eyes unblinking. "What happened?"

"Stabbed. ."

Andre bobs his head and turns to leave.

" ."

Looking back at the dancer, he nods. "I shall be right back. Do not die."

" . ," he says, attempting a smile. "Go."

* * *

Monique throws the door open at the sound of the knock on her door. "My Raoul. My love." She wraps her arms around him – pressing her face, shiny with perspiration, against his chest. "I am so happy to see you."

A gentle hand cups the back of her head, the other embraces her waist, his breath hitches at her touch. "To what do I owe this welcome?"

"Just your presence. Is there anything else I need?"

"To dance, perhaps?" he replies. "I could never hope to compete with that love."

"Well, perhaps, for moments," she chuckles. "Come sit by me." Pulling him to the small love seat, she clings to his side once both are seated.

A quizzical look crosses his face – he touches her forehead with the back of his hand. "You appear feverish – do you feel ill?"

Removing his hand, she shakes her head, squeezing his hand in both of hers. "I am completely well – it is simply the heat and damp in the air."

"Would you like to have a meal before we undertake your move?" he asks. "Phillippe has offered me the coach – so we need not worry about transport or having to rush ourselves."

"That is generous of him," she snipes. "I thought he might expect us to carry the items on our backs."

Raoul pulls away. "Why would you think that?"

"He is always criticizing you – making you feel small and inept."

Raoul laughs. "Do you not have disagreements with your brother? Phillippe is like my father – he feels a need to be strict."

"My father was strict and hateful." The widely-spaced blue eyes are hard, her thin lips dissolve into a straight line. "How do you bear him?"

"Phillippe is kind. Ultimately. He is kind and he spoiled me. I have no skills and have caused no amount of pain to others," Raoul says. "And yet, he embraces me and forgives."

"And you forgive him? For all the anger and disrespect?"

"Monique, he is my brother – of course I forgive him and love him – just as he forgives and loves me. He is going to be your brother. We are going to share a home."

Her face closes – is wiped clear of all emotion – the eyes glaze over, mouth neutral – she could be a porcelain doll. "Of course – I almost forgot – it is his house."

"No, it is the family's house – my sisters stay with us when they visit Paris. They will adore you and you will adore them." Bringing her close to him again, he kisses the red curls framing her oval face. "You shall see."

Toying with his tie, she asks, "How was your meeting with M. Erik?"

"He was preoccupied with Madame Giry's accident, but we discussed the gambling issue and Firmin's attack."

"He is well?"

"Firmin?"

"Yes, our beloved manager."

Raoul quirks an eyebrow. Why the sarcasm? "Does no one like the man?" he chuckles instead. "He is battered and has a nasty cut on his nose. My brother is settling his debt with Massoud. So one can say truthfully he has finally acquired some good fortune."

"Why?" She sits up straight. "He should not be forgiven his debt."

"Believe me, that will not happen," Raoul says, taking her hand. "He will just pay it back to the Opera House…my family and Erik."

"I suppose that shall have to do." A furrow brow suggests she thinks otherwise, but changes the topic of conversation. "You said M. Erik was treating Madame – for what."

"Yes – she may lose her sight."

"Oh? Is that so – why?"

"The fall – Erik hopes it will reverse with care."

"Interesting – so many suffering."

All her comments ring hollow and he feels as though he, too, has become trapped a deep well of depression – loving her gave him hope – he thought his love would have her feel the same. "Thankfully we are both free of injury – I say we should celebrate that," he says, refusing to give in – give up on that fragile thread. Pulling her into an embrace, burrowing his head in her neck – giving her a robust kiss. "No more sorrow for now."

"Do you love me, Raoul?"

"How can you ask that?"

"You seem to care so much about all these other people – I wonder that you have a moment to think of me at all."

"That is cra…zy." The word catches in his throat.

The delicate mouth twists, her eyes narrow – her breath coming in harsh fits and stops. "You mean I am crazy."

"No…no," he cries, pressing his fingers against her lips. "You have been hurt badly – I know your tears and sorrow. Time, we just need time to heal – both of us - together."

Leaving the love seat, she strides to her dressing table. Staring at her face in the mirror, she rummages through her bag. Pulling out her rehearsal costume, she quickly wraps it into a ball before tossing it into a wicker laundry basket. Delving further, she smiles, lifting the double-edged blade with the ornately carved ivory handle.

"I just meant the idea of my caring for others more than you was wrong. No one means more to me than you."

"Alex said you would turn on me."

"What does Alex have to do with this?"

"He said you were weak and would only stop suffering when you died." The eyes in the mirror – now focused on him were not her eyes. Not the pale blue pools of light he had come to count on to soothe his own wounds. When had he seen that look before?

* * *

_It took him a moment to realize a noose was around his neck – how did that happen? The monster moved so quickly and quietly. "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes." Madame Giry had warned him. But he had forgotten. Was this how it would all end?_

"_Choose me, he lives. Choose him, he dies. You really have no choice."_

_The words were terrifying – but the Phantom's eyes – those strange yellow eyes cut him to the core. He had always believed the idea of the devil to be a fantasy – an image called upon to keep him from misbehaving as a child. Now he was not so certain. If there was a devil, Erik was hosting the spirit in that moment. _

_Christine – out of compassion or love – offered a prayer before kissing him. Vomit rose in his mouth. He was stunned at the way she embraced the thing. In their time together – despite an engagement, he never felt such passion as he was observing. The second kiss tore into him, sharp and jagged, the pain deeper than he could have imagined._

_The creature actually pulled away from her and, as if by magic, the demon was exorcised. The noose was removed and they were set free._

_Of course, she loved him – her Angel of Music. He knew it before she did. It took the madness for her to know. As it would turn out, her kisses freed all of them._

* * *

Raoul rises to go to Monique. A kiss of true love – so sure was he of his devotion, she would know he would never fail her.

"I suspect that I will only stop suffering when I die," she says. "I am so tired of suffering, Raoul."

"I am here with you," he says, taking her by the shoulders. "The suffering will end – allow me to help."

She spins around. "I do love you so."

* * *

"_You_ have my bag," Meg exclaims, as she runs toward Darius to take it from him. "I simply must change my shoes – Maman will kill me when she sees these slippers." Covering her mouth with her hand, her face scrunches in shame at her words. "Oh, Darius, I want her to see them – I want her to see everything again."

The reserved, gentle man, drops the duffel and gathers her into his arms. "Madame will not let a fall stop her from seeing if that is what is meant to be," he says. "M. Erik wants her to rest, but I think seeing you would help her relax – but you must promise not to fuss over her or act frightened." Holding her at arm's length he smiles.

Megs nods – smiling back at him.

Phillippe continues to the door of Giselle's office. "Can you free yourself from work to enjoy some lunch?" His grey eyes caress her – head to toe, his ghost of a smile unsettling her.

"I think I can manage to tear myself away," she smiles, lowering her eyelids, a flush warming her cheeks.

"Just lunch?" Meg interjects, carrying her bag into the office – taking out her boots to exchange shoes.

"You are welcome to join us," Phillippe says.

"Hah," Meg says. "You are simply being a gentleman. Anyway, I think I want to see my mother first."

"We can wait." He turns to Giselle for confirmation.

"I would like nothing better."

Meg looks to Darius – who shrugs. "I think that is a fine idea."

"Andre went off to the rehearsal hall to find Meg's missing bag – we should wait until he returns," Giselle suggests. "Or better yet, go find him so he does not tear the room apart searching for it."

"Giselle! Meg! You must come!" Andre tears down the corridor towards them. "Comte Phillippe – Darius – come – Alex has been hurt. He is bleeding."

Before he can retrace his steps, Darius scoops him up and sits him on Meg's lap. "Giselle, get Erik – he is still with Madame. Do not let her know – she does not need the stress."

"What about M. Khan."

Darius shakes his head. "Just Erik…and Mme. Christine if need be."

"Send for Dr. Gerard...and Inspector Marchand," Phillippe says.

"I shall find Henri," Meg says. "Andre, you can come with me."

With that the two men run to find Monique's brother.

* * *

Erik closes the door softly behind them.

"Is she going to be all right?" Christine asks, taking his arm, leaning against his shoulder.

"If you mean her sight – I do not know," Erik says. "If you mean her spirit – yes, in time, regardless."

The couple stops as Giselle approaches them, slowing her trot to a fast walk. Her face full of concern. Licking her lips, she says, "Alex has been wounded – I do not know how or why. Andre found him in the rehearsal hall."

"Where is Andre?"

"With Meg – Phillippe and Darius are going to find him – we are sending for Dr. Gerard and the inspector."

"Back here," Darius says, leading Phillippe to the storage area. "Alex?"

The dancer raises his head slightly before allowing it to fall back. "Thank God."

The two men complete removing the scrim. They lift Alex by his shoulders and legs, carrying him into the main hall.

Darius quickly removes Alex' jacket, waistcoat and shirt – in addition to the stab wounds peppering his chest – none appearing to have punctured soft flesh – the backs of his arms and hands aredamage.

"From all appearances, each strike to your abdomen thankfully hit bone," Phillippe says. "Some of the gashes are quite long. You have lost a lot of blood, but I believe you will survive."

"Who did this to you?"

* * *

"_Where did you get that tantou?"_

"_It was Papa's – remember – his pride and joy? He would jab us with it – never enough to leave a mark – just enough to threaten."_

"_Yes, I remember. You stole it?"_

"_I took it – as a memento of his love."_

_Alex laughs. "He likely misses that knife more than either of us."_

"_I missed you a lot."_

_Alex closed his eyes. "If I could do it over, I would have taken you with me."_

_She unbuttons her bodice, pulling it open to expose her chest._

"_What…"_

"_Here." Pointing the knife at her breastbone. The scar is luminescent against her already pale skin. "Not terribly long – not very deep either – I do not even recall any pain. But the scar remains here and here," she says pointing to her head._

"_Why?"_

"_Who knows – I woke up from a deep sleep and he was standing over me telling me he hated me. I would have screamed, but he had one hand over my mouth and was beating me with the handle of the knife with the other."_

"_Monique…"_

"_His eyes met mine and he stopped and left. I was not even aware of the stabbing until I looked down."_

"_He struck the breastbone."_

"_Very astute of you."_

"_How could I know?"_

"_How could you not?"_

* * *

"Monique…when I left home – our father attacked her."

Phillippe's eyes meet Darius', "Raoul…"

"You go. I will stay with Alex," Darius says. "There is an aid kit and towels in that cupboard." He nods toward a large cabinet set against the wall. "I can begin cleaning him up."

* * *

Raoul is knocked off balance by Monique's unexpected movement. The sight of the knife confuses him – he reaches out, but the shake of her head has him raise his hands, signaling a momentary surrender. To convince her further, he takes another step away.

"It is of no use, my love," she says – her cheeks wet with tears. "I thought being rid of all those who hate and hurt us would ease the pain…"

"Let me ease your pain," he says – holding out his hand. "Come, let me hold you. Let me show you my love."

The knife slices across his palm. "Alex was right – you are only human and I am ruined."

"No – you are perfect." Ignoring the cut, he steps toward her.

Her laugh is raw, the madness undisguised. "You are not for this world, but even in that knowledge, I cannot save you from your life."

"Please, give me the knife." He ventures moving closer still.

The knife flashes in front of her. "Do you know of hara-kiri?"

Better prepared, he avoids the blade's threat. "No – something Asian."

"It is Japanese. Samurai warriors would commit hara-kiri - stomach cutting - when they were ashamed." Her shoulders sag, her arms hang down, the dagger seeming to be on the verge of falling from her grasp.

"I still do not understand," he says, taking a cautious step towards her. "Look at me – let me have the knife."

"Tantou. It is a tantou. Forgive me," she says, turning the knife on herself before he can react. The blue eyes become white as they roll back, the only sound coming from her open mouth a soft grunt as the blade enters her, a groan follows as she pushes the handle down.

Surprisingly, the entry site is clean. Perhaps his eyes deceived him. But no, Raoul grabs her as she falls forward, pressing her close to him, kissing her forehead, eyes, cheeks and, lastly, her lips. No more sweet breath, here now is the blood. The metallic taste assaults his mouth. A final shudder confirms her death.

* * *

"Phillippe!" Erik exclaims. "What is it?"

"We must get to Raoul."

"Monique's dressing room is here – the next door from us," Christine says. "What is happening?"

"She attacked Alex – left him for dead in the rehearsal room."

"Dear God," Erik says. "Christine, Giselle stay here."

Giselle opens her mouth to object, but a look from Phillippe stops her. She nods.

Christine takes her hand and the women step away, then follow Erik and Phillippe at a short distance.

"Raoul?" Phillippe calls out, pounding on the door.

"Do you have the master key?" Erik asks Giselle.

Giving a tight nod, she rushes forward. After she unlocks the door, Phillippe walks past her. Meeting her dark eyes, full of fear and concern – he touches her cheek. "Thank you."

Raoul sits where he slumped to the floor, cradling Monique in his lap, slowly rocking back and forth. Blue eyes stare at the Degas dress, stained with blood hanging over the edge of the laundry basket.

"Dear God – what happened? Are you injured?" Phillippe asks, kneeling down next to his brother.

Raoul shakes his head. "No. Yes, just some small cuts." He holds out his hand.

Phillippe removes his handkerchief and wraps it around his brother's hand.

Christine and Giselle stand in the doorway, Erik between them – an arm around Christine, a hand on Giselle's shoulder.

"She was too fragile – a porcelain doll – she just broke." His voice flat, a dead as the young woman he holds. "I could not stop her. I tried. I did not believe she would do this."

Erik joins Phillippe in lifting her body away from Raoul's grasp. Taking the costume from the basket, he presses it against the wound. Carrying her to the loveseat, he removes the knife and wraps it in his own handkerchief before placing it in his pocket.

Christine and Giselle join him, taking charge of settling the young ballerina's body, wrapping her in the pale blue afghan that hangs over the arm.

Phillippe helps Raoul to his feet.

"It might be best if we wait for the doctor in my office," Erik says, wrapping his arm around Christine's waist.

Giselle looks to Phillippe for agreement.

"I should like to stay here with her," Raoul says.

"Are you sure?" Phillippe asks.

Raoul nods.

"Very well, I shall sit with you."

"That is not necessary."

"I shall sit with you," Phillippe repeats, shifting his eyes to Giselle.

She nods and taking Christine's hand, they walk with Erik to the door.

"Erik – do you know whose blood…the dress?"

"Her brother's."


	17. The Gathering of Ashes and Rebirth

A/N - Thank you to everyone who has been reading this and the other two stories leading up to this one. The "Rebirth" section is published on FFN as a separate one-shot called The Gift of a Dance, so it may seem familiar to anyone who read that story. It was always intended to end this multi-fic and I hope those who enjoyed it before, will still like it with the small modifications I've made.

* * *

The Gathering of Ashes

Having returned to the corridor, Erik presses himself against Christine's back, wrapping his arms around her waist as she holds Giselle – living statuary – trying to absorb the tragedy they left behind the closed door.

"The level of her pain was deeper than any of us imagined," he says, breaking the silence, a tight shake of his head, instructing his body not to cry – not here – not now. Surprised by the emotion he is experiencing.

"Poor Raoul," Christine says, wiping her own tears.

Giselle pulls back – turning away. "I should have known – done something."

"What?" Erik says. "Were you aware of anything that might have led you to believe this might happen?"

"Besides the fact she was always distant – no. I wish I knew – they were so contained in one another – neither would let anyone else in."

"But her brother..." Christine says, "…she seemed happier when he came back."

"He made her worse. His return triggered something inside her – mood swings, odd behavior – a wild element none of us here could explain."

"Do not torment yourself," Erik says. "When possessed by demons, only an act of God…or an angel can save you."

Christine smiles up at him.

"My dear, perhaps you and Giselle can advise Nadir and Adele about Monique – I shall find out the situation with Alex."

* * *

Meg sits at Giselle's desk, her arms wrapped around Andre, who rests against her lap.

"Is there something we can do?"

"No, it is best we wait here," she says – pressing her cheek against his back. "Your maman will be looking for you soon and someone needs to greet the doctor and inspector when they come."

"I hate sitting still," he pouts, folding his arms in front of him.

"Me, too, but if we are to be taken seriously, we must play our role and behave as grown-ups."

"I guess."

The stage door opens and both of them jump up to welcome whomever walks through.

"Mlle. Giry – Andre, Henri said there was an emergency," Dr. Gerard says.

"Alex was stabbed," Andre says. "We were told to wait for you and Inspector Marquand."

"Stabbed? Where is he?"

"The rehearsal hall, I will take you." Andre grabs his hand, pulling him. "I found him. Darius is there now. He was bleeding a lot."

"Andre. No." Meg calls after him to no avail. Shaking her head, she returns to the chair. "I am not cut out to be an adult."

"Meg – has the doctor arrived?" Erik asks as he trots toward her.

"Andre just took him to the rehearsal hall – to treat Alex." She stands up to follow him.

"Please wait for Inspector Marquand – send him to us when he arrives."

Meg emits a deep sigh, flopping back down.

"I know you are frustrated, Little Giry, but we need you where you are – I promise I shall tell you everything…" Shifting direction, he disappears down the corridor.

* * *

"Do you care to talk about what happened?" Phillippe asks, sitting in one of the two chairs pulled up next to the loveseat where Monique's body lies.

Christine and Giselle covered her body as if she was sleeping, her hands crossed on her chest. Raoul presses a hand over hers, staring at her face – waiting for her to take a breath. "I keep thinking she will wake up and show her sweet smile. She never laughed – but would simply turn up the corners of her mouth. I would like to say that her eyes twinkled in mirth occasionally, but they never did." His eyes, when they turn to Phillippe are dry. "She planned to kill me."

"What?"

"Alex told her my misery in life would only end when I died – so she was going to kill me – then, I suppose, would take her own life."

"Why? You were never anything but kind and loving to her."

"I think she felt she had to protect me – defend me…"

"Her idea of love?"

"After I told her about the gambling debt and my cape – Gregor was found dead." Raoul rubs his face with his hands, stands up to pace the room. "The night of the performance, he was backstage, resplendent in the heavy wool, despite the heat. A message to the crew, no doubt. Monique approached and he laughed before turning his back and walking away."

"I see."

"Do you? Do you really?"

Phillippe examines Raoul's face.

* * *

"_Why are you so mean to me?_

"_I am not mean – I am strict. There is a difference."_

"_I know the difference – Father would correct me, but then I would receive a hug or a pat. You are mean. All you ever do is yell and say I am bad."_

"_I am not Father."_

"_No, you are not. I wish he was here now."_

"_You behave as though you want to be punished."_

"_I just want things to be the same again. I want Father back." The tow-headed boy's eyes brimmed with tears, lower lip quivering._

"_Come here," Phillippe said, opening his arms to the young boy – his brother, his charge._

_Raoul approached, hesitant, willing himself to accept the hug being offered, finally throwing himself into the arms of the solemn young man, not so long out of childhood himself._

"_I may never understand you, but I love you, Raoul," Phillippe said. "I will likely fail at times, more often than not, I suspect – but I will try my best."_

* * *

"She saw too many of my failures?" Phillippe suggests.

"Both our failures."

* * *

Alex lies on a makeshift table, fashioned from saw horses and a sheet of plywood found tucked in the storage area. Darius put together a supply of sheeting and towels – as well as a pitcher of water and the aid kit. When Dr. Gerard arrived, the dancer had already been stripped of the outer clothing on his upper body, with most of the wounds, already cleansed and treated with alcohol.

"You are a fortunate young man," Dr. Gerard says, examining him for wounds. "Your arms took most of the abuse, however, a few of the strikes came close to doing real damage to your chest. As with Madame Giry, the skeletal structure protected your vital organs."

Erik arrives to find Darius and Andre observing the suturing. "Dr. Gerard – thank you for prompt return. I am afraid there is yet another…patient."

"Monique?" Alex asks, raising his head.

Erik nods. "Andre, I should like for you to go back to the office and stay with Meg."

"But…"

"But, nothing," Erik says. "I must speak with Alex privately."

"I have already seen his wounds – I was watching Dr. Gerard the whole time and I did not get sick or scared."

"He was quite the assistant – Darius as well," Gerard says.

"I am more concerned now with how the wounds were acquired."

"I shall take him," Darius says. "His mother may be looking for him, and Inspector Marquand may be arriving soon."

"It is not fair," Andre continues to argue when Darius picks him up and throws him over his shoulder.

"You shall find much of that in life, little brother," Darius says, giving him a playful swat on his bottom. "You will learn of those evils soon enough – no need to hurry."

"Is he well enough to talk?" Erik asks.

"Yes, no major organs were affected, thankfully – much of the blood came from superficial strikes, of which there are many," he says, methodically cleaning and stitching. "From my experience, though, there did not appear to be much will behind the attack."

Erik pulls a chair next to the table, careful to leave the doctor room to move around the table.

"She is either unharmed or dead," Alex says. "Which is it?"

"Dead. By her own hand – she found the will against herself," Erik says. "I am sorry."

"Raoul?"

"A few scratches – in an attempt to wrest the knife from her."

Alex turns to face Erik. "I told her he would be happier dead – or words to that effect."

Erik quirks an eyebrow.

"He is a miserable soul – everyone knows it – even the boy." Sighing deeply, he turns back to staring up. "This ceiling is quite stunning – I never bothered to look at it before. In all my explorations around the theater, the room where I spent the most time did not draw my eyes. When I thought I was going to die this ceiling became the most beautiful work of art I shall ever know."

"Charles wished that any place the eye touched should be of interest – one can never be bored here – even in the tunnels…"

"The tunnels?" Dr. Gerard asks. "They must be very special tunnels – those I have seen inspire nothing in me but to be gone as quickly as possible."

"I believe the Baron spent more time in the tunnels than exploring the art of the opera house."

"You guessed?"

"Not terribly creative of you. I _was_ the Phantom – do you think I would not know who was trying to mimic me?"

"It worked to collect on debts."

"How did you learn about the secret doors?"

"Monique…Raoul told her something about Christine disappearing from her dressing room. It made sense that there were secret passages. I simply began fiddling around anything that could be a door in whatever room I happened to be in."

"You showed her?"

"Of course. It was a game. Monique loved my games – in case you did not notice - she was bored. The tragedy was we had no access to truly interesting places – just that one dressing room."

"Which of you left Madame Giry injured?"

Alex' forehead creases, he turns again to face Erik. "She hurt Madame?"

"Frightened her, but did not offer help when she fell."

"It is best she is dead."

"You believe that?"

"She was mad, I think. Fixated on revenge – people who hurt her or Raoul in some way."

* * *

"_He is better than you. He would never leave me." _

_The knife was a shock, appearing from behind her back. "What are you doing?"_

"_You do nothing but mock him. You, that viper Gregor…Phillippe…Erik…the grande Madame Giry."_

"_You killed Gregor?" Backing away from her blows, he found himself in a corner. _

"_He made a fool of Raoul."_

"_This is crazy, you cannot kill everyone who hurts him…or you." Holding his arms in front of him, he twisted, hoping to throw her off balance._

"_You cut people." The strikes lessened as her breathing increased._

"_Business – for business – and only enough to frighten them." Falling to the floor, he crawled from her._

"_Well, I frightened a lot of people." Anger spent, she grabbed some scrims and tossed them over his body, curled in the fetal position._

* * *

"I never thought she hated me so much," Alex says.

"Well, she left you alive and she did not kill Raoul."

* * *

Erik sits at Adele's desk, Christine on his lap. Darius is on the floor next to Meg, who rests her head on her mother's lap.

"I wish I could feel something for any of them, but I cannot," Nadir says.

"Even Raoul?" Adele asks.

"Especially Raoul. There was a time when I believed him to be a good, if misguided man. He seemed to love Christine…"

"Monique needed more care," Adele argues.

"No, Maman, you did everything for her. You gave her a home and your love and she would have let you die in the tunnels."

"M. Robert might never have taken her had I been more careful."

"Stop it, Adele," Nadir says, stroking her hair from where he sits behind the chaise.

"She saved my life." Erik's voice cuts in – low, almost imperceptible. "Alex said it was best she was dead. All I know is she saved my life and I wish I could have saved hers."

Christine presses his head to her chest.

"That or she just shot M. Robert – the act having nothing to do with you at all," Nadir responds.

"So you think it was just chance that she killed him before he was able to shoot me?" Erik challenges, stiffening his back.

"Yes." Nadir's jaw is rigid.

"What her actions meant to her are irrelevant - I am grateful for them and I am sorry for her death."

The eyes of the two men lock – Nadir lowers his. "You are correct – I am sorry to have been so thoughtless – careless of your feelings."

"What did Inspector Marquand say?" Adele asks.

* * *

"_No one to arrest – Monique murdered Gregor."_

"_The gambling?" _

"_A crime – but the government does not care."_

"_The assaults?"_

"_No complaints made."_

"_Sorry I wasted your time."_

"_It is always a pleasure dealing with you, M. Saint-Rien – you make my job interesting." Marquand raised his ever unlit cigar in a mock salute. "The good doctor will help le Comte with the transport of the Baroness. Was not aware she was a noble…as I said, you make my life interesting."_

* * *

"So our friend Harim will continue with his gaming?" Nadir grumbles.

"As long as he keeps his business to himself, I am content to let that sleeping dog lie." Erik says. "We each have our grievances, but have families to consider now. We are no longer in Persia."

"What are we to do about Alex?" Adele asks.

"I should like to keep him on as a performer – with certain stipulations."

Nadir, stands up, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Have you not known me long enough to know that in many ways, the answer is a resounding yes? Although seeming so initially, as when I brought my lovely wife to my home, I would say the answer is no," Erik smirks. "Am I not correct, _Madame_ Khan?"

"He is right, Nadir."

"You will keep him in the show, Maman?"

"He is a brilliant performer and will bring in an entirely new audience," Adele says.

"Can I dance with him?"

"Meg!" Darius exclaims.

"As Maman said, he is a brilliant performer – why should I not dance with him?"

"He is…" Darius sputters.

"What?" Christine asks, kissing Erik on the cheek. "He is an outcast, and perhaps not a terribly nice person, but the theater is full of those – many without a modicum of his talent."

"This is why we are better at providing security at a theater than dealing with the _artistry," _Nadir mutters to his young friend.

"So you have invited him to stay on?" Adele asks. "This was more an announcement than a request for support?"

"Of course."

"The stipulations?" Nadir asks, his chin balanced on his hands resting on the back of the chaise.

"No more working for Harim – no more gambling enforcer."

"What about Firmin's money? Monique took it – she must have," Darius says.

"She did - it will be given to Phillippe since he paid the debt."

"Will you have them back – Firmin and Armand?" Christine asks.

"I shall think on it."

Rebirth

Nearing the end of their trek home, Erik dances down the final set of stairs, moving to music only he can hear. One hand gracefully waving above his head. Narrow hips swaying in syncopated rhythm with his feet – tap, tap, tap – three steps forward, tap, tap, tap - three steps back – shuffle, side step, shuffle side step. "Bum, bum, bum – hah!" The light from his lantern bobs and weaves with his movements creating fragmented shadows on the walls of the underground passage.

"What is that music you hear in that amazing mind of yours? From your movements, I suspect it is not an aria." Christine's own steps are hesitant, wishing to become neither obstacle nor victim, if he loses his footing.

Reaching ground level, he turns to her deep sigh and titter of relief. Taking her lantern, he puts both on the bottom step. Slapping the rhythm on his knees so she, too, can hear the timing. Arms outstretched, his shoulder shimmy invites her to join him. "Definitely not an aria. Dance, my lady?"

How can she resist? "Now that we are finished with stairs, yes," she says, mimicking his gestures. "Tonight's performance certainly energized you. Where did you learn these steps?"

"As expected, your shoulder movement is excellent," he says, waggling his eyebrows as he leers at her breasts.

Christine giggles, swatting at him. "Stop that, you silly man."

"Russian folk dances I attempted to learn when traveling in the Asias." Wrapping an arm around her waist, he walks her in a half-circle – then, pivots, reversing their direction.

"I like seeing you happy – enjoying the time you spend around people." As her steps become more assured, she attempts a few skips when the direction changes.

"Excellent – you know this dance – the polka?" Encouraged by her inclusion, the simple walk becomes a series of capering movements.

"I learned the polska when I was a child. Not exactly the same, but similar."

Erik picks up the tempo – Christine easily keeping up, her feet tripping easily over the flat stone.

"As for my enjoyment in spending time around people, that would be stretching the truth somewhat. The music – the performances are enjoyable. I was right about keeping Alex on – he and Meg were wonderful tonight - and our young Andre provided a light moment during the first intermission."

"That is all fine and good, but it is more."

Stopping the dance to catch his breath, his lips purse and brow wrinkles. "Why does that matter?"

"Our baby will have a happy pappa," she says collapsing against him, her own breath shortened.

"You are all right?" he asks, wrapping her in his arms, swaying back and forth.

"Yes, just a tad winded – I believe that comes with carrying a baby."

"You and our child are all I need to be happy." Pressing a hand against her belly, he bends to kiss her.

Allowing only a peck, she resumes her argument. "That you have more is good, though, my husband – for me, as well."

For a moment, they survey their surroundings – the silent darkness – far below the area where the daily work is performed. Any efforts to avoid duties, or indulge in private rendezvous, finds the lower levels absent of interest to the opera house personnel. This place still holds fearful memories for some – the Phantom alive in their dreams even now.

"It never occurred to me that all of this was here. On that first night with you, trusting, as you led me down these very steps. Our dance was quite different."

"So many lonely journeys down these stairs – too many to count, not knowing how long I would have to live in solitude, out of the light." Golden eyes meet aquamarine, he says, "I am so very sorry I hurt you. Frightened you. This week brought much of that back – Adele, Monique – the opera ghost reborn."

"That is the past – it has been the past for some time now." Brushing the back of her fingers against his cheek, she says, "You are becoming melancholy and that is not what I wished when I engaged in this conversation."

"Old habits – self-pity is so unattractive, is it not?" He risks a sheepish smile. "Shall we dance a bit more – something less taxing?" Taking her into his arms as he observed during the balls he dared not attend.

"Ooo." Trembling, she pulls back, pressing her fingers to her belly, a chortle escaping her lips. With bright eyes she looks up at him. "I think not – I believe our daughter is doing her own dance inside me and I am not certain I can keep up with both of you."

"The quickening?" Flirtation becomes awe. "Show me."

Placing his hand where she felt the flutters, she asks, "Can you feel her?"

At first he shakes his head. Adjusting his fingers, he nods – lips spread in a smile – bated breath released with a chuff. Pressing his knuckles to his mouth, the smile fades, eyes looking above and around – everywhere and nowhere. "I must take this off," he says, removing his mask, handing it to her. Turning, he steps away, covering his face with both hands, body wracked with uncontrollable shaking, he falls to his knees. The sound of his sobs echo across the still water of the lake.

"Erik. What is it?" Christine stoops down next to him, embracing him, cradling his head to her breast.

"This is real?"

"Yes. You were still in doubt?"

He nods. "Until this moment, I suppose I was still fearful that it would all disappear like a dream."

Holding his hand to her again, she laughs. "My darling man, I assure you, this little one is not a dream."

"A dancer, do you suppose?

"We shall know better with her first cries – perhaps both."


End file.
